MAN  TO  MAN 


Jackson  Gregory 


University  of  California  •  Berkeley 
Gift  of 

JAMES  SISSON 


MAN  TO  MAN 


BY  JACKSON  GREGORY 


MAN  TO  MAN 

Illustrated  by  J.  C.  Shepherd 

LADYFINGERS 

Illustrated  by  W.  Herbert  Dunton 

ITHE  BELLS  OF  SAN  JUAN 

Illustrated  by  Frank  Tenny  Johnson 

JUDITH  OF  BLUE  LAKE  RANCH 
Illustrated  by  W.  Herbert  Dunton 


CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


The  blazing  heat  was  such  that  men  and  horses  and 
steers  suffered  terribly 


MAN  TO  MAN 


BY 


JACKSON  GREGORY 

AUTHOR  Of  "  SIX  FEET  TOUR,"  "  JUDITH  OF  BLUE  LAKE  RANCH, 
"BELLS  OF  SAN  JUAN,"  "LADYKNGERS" 


ILLUSTRATED   BY 

J.  G.  SHEPHERD 


CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 
NEW  YORK:::::::::::::::::::::  1920 


COPYRIGHT,  19*0,  BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


Published  October,  1920 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTBR  PACE 

I.    STEVE  DIVES  INTO  DEEP  WATERS    .  i 

II.    Miss    BLUE    CLOAK    KNOWS    WHEN 

SHE'S  BEAT 14 

III.  NEWS  OF  A  LEGACY 22 

IV.  TERRY  BEFORE  BREAKFAST     ...  35 
V.    How  STEVE  PACKARD  CAME  HOME   .  43 

VI.    BANK  NOTES  AND  A  BLIND  MAN       .  60 
VII.    THE    OLD    MOUNTAIN    LION    COMES 

DOWN   FROM  THE   NORTH        ...  78 

VIII.    IN  RED  CREEK  TOWN 94 

IX.    "IT'S  MY  FIGHT  AND  His.    LET  HIM 

Go!"                                ....  107 

X.    A  RIDE  WITH  TERRY 120 

XI.    THE  TEMPTING  OF  YELLOW  BARBEE  138 

XII.    IN  A  DARK  ROOM 150 

XIII.  AT  THE  LUMBER  CAMP       ....  160 

XIV.  THE  MAN-BREAKER  AT  HOME      .     .  184 
XV.    AT  THE  FALLEN  LOG 199 


Contents 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XVI.  TERRY  DEFIES  BLENHAM    .     .     .     .  218 

XVII.  AND  CALLS  ON  STEVE 237 

XVIII.  "!F  HE  KNOWS— DOES  SHE?"     .     .  246 

XIX.  TERRY  CONFRONTS  HELL-FIRE  PACK- 
ARD    258 

XX.  A  GATE  AND  A  RECORD  SMASHED      .  269 

XXL  PACKARD  WRATH  AND  TEMPLE  RAGE  277 

XXII.  THE  HAND  OF  BLENHAM    ....  287 

XXIII.  STEVE  RIDES  BY  THE  TEMPLE  PLACE  304 

XXIV.  DOWN  FROM  THE  SKY!       .     .     .     .  313 
XXV.  THE  STAMPEDE 331 

XXVI.  YELLOW  BARBEE   KEEPS  A   PROMISE  347 

XXVII.  IN  HONOR  OF  THE  FAIRY  QUEEN!     .  364 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

The  blazing  heat  was  such  that  men  and  .horses  and 

steers  suffered  terribly Frontispiece 


FACING  PAGE 


The  men  about  him  and  Packard  withdrew  this  way 

and  that  leaving  empty  floor  space      .      .      .      .     118 

Terry's  head,  her  face  flushed  rosily,  her  eyes  never 

brighter,  popped  up  on  one  side  of  the  log       .      .     206 

"Say  it!"  laughed  Terry.    "Well,  I'm  here.     Came 

on  business" 240 


MAN   TO   MAN 

CHAPTER  I 

STEVE    DIVES    INTO   DEEP   WATERS 

STEVE  PACKARD'S  pulses  quickened  and  a 
bright  eagerness  came  into  his  eyes  as  he 
rode  deeper  into  the  pine-timbered  mountains. 
To-day  he  was  on  the  last  lap  of  a  delectable 
journey.  Three  days  ago  he  had  ridden  out  of 
the  sun-baked  town  of  San  Juan;  three  months 
had  passed  since  he  had  sailed  out  of  a  South  Sea 
port. 

Far  down  there,  foregathering  with  sailor  men 
in  a  dirty  water-front  boarding-house,  he  had 
grown  suddenly  and  even  tenderly  reminiscent 
of  a  cleaner  land  which  he  had  roamed  as  a  boy. 
He  stared  back  across  the  departed  years  as  many 
a  man  has  looked  from  just  some  such  resort  as 
Black  Jack's  boarding-house,  a  little  wistfully 
withal.  Abruptly  throwing  down  his  unplayed 
hand  and  forfeiting  his  ante  in  a  card  game,  he 
had  gotten  up  and  taken  ship  back  across  the 
Pacific.  The  house  of  Packard  might  have  spelled 


Man  to  Man 

its  name  with  the  seven  letters  of  the  word  "im- 
pulse." 

Late  to-night  or  early  to-morrow  he  would 
go  down  the  trail  into  Packard's  Grab,  the  valley 
which  had  been  his  grandfather's  and,  because 
of  a  burst  of  reckless  generosity  on  the  part  of 
the  old  man,  Steve's  father's  also.  But  never 
Steve's,  pondered  the  man  on  the  horse;  word 
of  his  father's  death  had  come  to  him  five  months 
ago  and  with  it  word  of  Phil  Packard's  specula- 
tions and  sweeping  losses. 

But  never  had  money's  coming  and  money's 
going  been  a  serious  concern  of  Steve  Packard; 
and  now  his  anticipation  was  sufficiently  keen. 
The  world  was  his;  he  had  no  need  of  a  legal 
paper  to  state  that  the  small  fragment  of  the  world 
known  as  Ranch  Number  Ten  belonged  to  him. 
He  could  ride  upon  it  again,  perhaps  find  one  like 
old  Bill  Royce,  the  foreman,  left.  And  then  he 
could  go  on  until  he  came  to  the  other  Packard 
ranch  where  his  grandfather  had  lived  and  still 
might  be  living. 

After  all  of  this —  Well,  there  were  many  sunny 
beaches  here  and  there  along  the  seven  seas  where 
he  had  still  to  lie  and  sun  himself.  Now  it  was 
a  pure  joy  to  note  how  the  boles  of  pine  and  cedar 
pointed  straight  toward  the  clear,  cloudless  blue; 
how  the  little  streams  trickled  through  their 

2 


Steve  Dives  into  Deep  Waters 

worn  courses;  how  the  quail  scurried  to  their 
brushy  retreats;  how  the  sunlight  splashed  warm 
and  golden  through  the  branches;  how  valleys 
widened  and  narrowed  and  the  thickly  timbered 
ravines  made  a  delightful  and  tempting  coolness 
upon  the  mountainsides. 

It  was  an  adventure  with  its  own  thrill  to  ride 
around  a  bend  in  the  narrow  trail  and  be  greeted 
by  an  old,  well-remembered  landmark:  a  flat- 
topped  boulder  where  he  had  lain  when  a  boy, 
looking  up  at  the  sky  and  thrilling  to  the  whis- 
pered promises  of  life;  or  a  pool  where  he  had 
fished  or  swum;  or  a  tree  he  had  climbed  or  from 
whose  branches  he  had  shot  a  gray  squirrel.  A 
wagon-road  which  he  might  have  taken  he  aban- 
doned for  a  trail  which  better  suited  his  present 
fancy  since  it  led  with  closer  intimacy  into  the 
woods. 

It  was  late  afternoon  when  he  came  to  the 
gentle  rise  which  gave  first  glint  of  the  little  lake 
so  like  a  blue  jewel  set  in  the  dusty  green  of  the 
wooded  slopes.  As  he  rose  in  his  stirrups  to  gaze 
down  a  vista  through  the  tree-trunks,  he  saw  the 
bright,  vivid  blue  of  a  cloak. 

"Now,  there's  a  woman,"  thought  Packard 
without  enthusiasm.  "The  woods  were  quite 
well  enough  alone  without  her.  As  I  suppose 
Eden  was.  But  along  she  comes  just  the  same. 

3 


Man  to  Man 

And  of  course  she  must  pick  out  the  one  danger- 
ous spot  on  the  whole  lake  shore  to  display  her- 
self on." 

For  he  knew  how,  just  yonder  where  the  blue 
cloak  caught  the  sunlight,  there  was  a  sheer  bank 
and  how  the  lapping  water  had  cut  into  it,  goug- 
ing it  out  year  after  year  so  that  the  loose  soil 
above  was  always  ready  to  crumble  and  spill 
into  the  lake.  The  wearer  of  the  bright  garment 
stirred  and  stood  up,  her  back  still  toward  him. 

"Young  girl,  most  likely,"  he  hazarded  an 
opinion. 

Though  she  was  too  far  from  him  to  be  at  all 
certain,  he  had  sensed  something  of  youth's  own 
in  the  very  quality  of  her  gesture. 

Then  suddenly  he  clapped  his  spurs  to  his 
horse's  sides  and  went  racing  down  the  slope 
toward  the  spot  where  an  instant  ago  she  had 
made  such  a  gay  contrast  to  dull  verdure  and  gray 
boulders.  For  he  had  glimpsed  the  quick  flash 
of  an  up-thrown  arm,  had  heard  a  low  cry,  had 
guessed  rather  than  seen  through  the  low  under- 
brush her  young  body  falling. 

As  he  threw  himself  from  his  horse's  back,  his 
spur  caught  in  the  blue  cloak  which  had  dropped 
from  her  shoulders;  he  kicked  at  it  savagely. 
He  jerked  off  his  boots,  poised  a  moment  looking 
down  upon  the  disturbed  surface  of  the  water 

4 


Steve  Dives  into  Deep  Waters 

which  had  closed  over  her  head,  made  out  the 
sweep  of  an  arm  under  the  widening  circles,  and 
dived  straight  down. 

And  so  deep  down  under  water  they  met  for 
the  first  time,  Steve  Packard  with  a  sense  of 
annoyance  that  was  almost  outright  irritation, 
the  girl  struggling  frantically  as  his  right  arm 
closed  tight  about  her.  A  quick  suspicion  came 
to  him  that  she  had  not  fallen  but  had  thrown 
herself  downward  in  some  passionate  quarrel 
with  life;  that  she  wanted  to  die  and  would  give 
him  scant  thanks  for  the  rescue. 

This  thought  was  followed  by  the  other  that 
in  her  access  of  terror  she  was  doing  what  the 
drowning  person  always  does — losing  her  head, 
threatening  to  bind  his  arms  with  her  own  and 
drag  him  down  with  her. 

Struggling  half  blindly  and  all  silently  they 
rose  a  little  toward  the  surface.  Packard  tight- 
ened his  grip  about  her  body,  managed  to  imprison 
one  of  her  arms  against  her  side,  beat  at  the  water 
with  his  free  handj  and  so,  just  as  his  lungs  seemed 
ready  to  burst,  he  brought  his  nostrils  into  the 
air. 

He  drew  in  a 'great  breath  and  struck  out 
mightily  for  the  shore,  seeking  a  less  precipitous 
bank  at  the  head  of  a  little  cove.  As  he  did  so, 
he  noted  how  her  struggles  had  suddenly  given 

5 


Man  to  Man 

over,  how  she  floated  quietly  with  him,  her  free 
arm  even  aiding  in  their  progress. 

A  little  later  he  crawled  out  of  the  clear,  cold 
water  to  a  pebbly  beach,  drawing  her  after  him. 

And  now  he  understood  that  his  destiny  and 
his  own  headlong  nature  had  again  made  a  con- 
summate fool  of  him.  The  same  knowledge  was 
offered  him  freely  in  a  pair  of  gray  eyes  which 
fairly  blazed  at  him.  No  gratitude  there  of  a 
maiden  heroically  succored  in  the  hour  of  her 
supreme  distress;  just  the  leaping  anger  of  a 
girl  with  a  temper  like  hot  fire  who  had  been  rudely 
handled  by  a  stranger. 

Her  scanty  little  bathing-suit,  bright  blue  like 
the  discarded  cloak,  the  red  rubber  cap  binding 
the  bronze  hair — she  must  have  donned  the 
ridiculous  thing  with  incredible  swiftness  while  he 
batted  an  eye — might  have  been  utterly  becom- 
ing in  other  eyes  than  those  of  Steve  Packard. 
Now  that  they  merely  told  him  that  he  was  a 
blundering  ass,  he  was  conscious  solely  of  a  de- 
sire to  pick  her  up  and  shake  her. 

"Gee  I"  she  panted  at  him  with  an  angry  scorn- 
fulness  which  made  him  wince.  "You're  about 
the  freshest  proposition  I  ever  came  across!" 

Later,  perhaps,  he  would  admit  that  she  was 
undeniably  and  most  amazingly  pretty;  that  the 
curves  of  her  little  white  body  were  delightfully 

6 


Steve  Dives  into  Deep  Waters 

perfect;  that  she  had  made  an  armful  that  at 
another  time  would  have  put  sheer  delirium  into  a 
man's  blood. 

Just  now  he  knew  only  that  in  his  moment  of 
nothing  less  than  stupidity  he  had  angered  her 
and  that  his  own  anger  though  more  unreasonable 
was  scarcely  less  heated;  that  he  had  made  and 
still  made  but  a  sorry  spectacle;  that  he  was  sop- 
ping wet  a'nd  cold  and  would  be  shivering  in  a 
moment  like  a  freezing  dog. 

"Why  did  you  want  to  yell  like  a  Comanche 
Indian  when  you  went  in  ?"  he  demanded  rudely, 
offering  the  only  defense  he  could  put  mind  or 
tongue  to.  "A  man  would  naturally  suppose  that 
you  were  falling." 

"You  didn't  suppose  any  such  thing!"  she  re- 
torted sharply.  "You  saw  me  dive;  if  you  had 
the  brains  of  a  scared  rabbit,  you'd  know  that 
when  a  girl  had  gone  to  the  trouble  to  climb  into 
a  bathing-suit  and  then  jumped  into  the  water 
she  wanted  a  swim.  And  to  be  left  alone,"  she 
added  scathingly. 

Packard  felt  the  afternoon  breeze  through  the 
wet  garments  which  stuck  so  close  to  him,  and 
shivered. 

"If  you  think,"  he  said,  as  sharply  as  she  had 
spoken,  "that  I  just  jumped  into  that  infernal 
ice-pond,  clothes  and  all,  for  the  pure  joy  of  mak- 

7 


Man  to  Man 

ing  your  charming  acquaintance  in  some  ten  feet 
of  water,  all  I  can  say  is  that  you  are  by  no  means 
lacking  a  full  appreciation  of  your  own  attractive- 


ness." 


She  opened  her  eyes  widely  at  him,  lying  at  his 
feet  where  he  had  deposited  her.  She  had  not 
offered  to  rise.  But  now  she  sat  up,  drawing  her 
knees  into  the  circle  of  her  clasped  arms,  tilting 
her  head  back  as  she  stared  up  at  him. 

"You've  got  your  nerve,  Mr.  Man,"  she  in- 
formed him  coolly.  "Any  time  that  you  think 
I'll  stand  for  a  fool  man  jumping  in  and  spoiling 
my  fun  for  me  and  then  scolding  me  on  top  of  it, 
youVe  got  another  good-sized  think  coming. 
And  take  it  from  me,  you'll  last  a  good  deal 
longer  in  this  neck  of  the  woods  if  you  'tend  to 
your  own  business  after  this  and  keep  your  paws 
off  other  folks'  affairs.  Get  me  that  time  ?" 

"I  get  you  all  right,"  grunted  Packard.  "And 
I  find  your  gratitude  to  a  man  who  has  just 
risked  his  life  for  you  quite  touching." 

"Gratitude?  Bah!"  she  told  him,  leaping 
suddenly  to  her  feet.  "Risked  your  life  for  me, 
did  you?"  She  laughed  jeeringly  at  that. 
"Why,  you  big  lummox,  I  could  have  yanked  you 
out  as  easy  as  turn  a  somersault  if  you  started  to 
drown.  And  now  suppose  you  hammer  the  trail 
while  it's  open." 

8 


Steve  Dives  into  Deep  Waters 

He  bestowed  upon  her  a  glance  whose  purpose 
was  to  wither  her.  It  failed  miserably,  partly 
because  she  was  patently  not  the  sort  to  be  with- 
ered by  a  look  from  a  mere  man,  and  partly  be- 
cause a  violent  and  inopportune  shiver  shook  him 
from  head  to  foot. 

Until  now  there  had  been  only  bright  anger  in 
the  girl's  eyes.  Suddenly  the  light  there  changed; 
what  had  begun  as  a  sniff  at  him  altered  without 
warning  into  a  highly  amused  giggle. 

"Golly,  Mr.  Man/'  she  taunted  him.  "You're 
sure  some  swell  picture  as  you  stand  there,  hand 
on  hip  and  popping  your  eyes  out  at  me!  Like 
a  king  in  a  story-book,  only  he'd  just  got  a 
ducking  and  was  trying  to  stare  the  other  fellow 
down.  Which  is  one  thing  you  can't  do  with 


me." 


Her  eyes  had  the  adorable  trick  of  seeming  to 
crinkle  to  a  mirth  which  would  have  been  an  ex- 
tremely pleasant  phenomenon  to  witness  had  she 
been  laughing  with  him  instead  of  at  him.  As 
matters  stood,  Packard  was  quite  prepared  to 
dislike  her  heartily. 

"I'd  add  to  your  kind  information  that  the 
trail  is  open  at  both  ends,"  he  told  her  significantly. 
"I'm  going  to  find  a  sunny  spot  and  dry  my 
clothes.  No  objection,  I  suppose?" 

He  clambered  up  the  bank  and  made  his  way 

9 


Man  to  Man 

to  the  spot  whence  he  had  dived  after  her,  bent 
on  retrieving  his  boots  and  spurs.  Her  eyes  fol- 
lowed him  interestedly.  He  ignored  her  and  set 
about  extricating  a  spur  rowel  from  the  fabric 
of  the  bright  blue  cloak.  Her  voice  floated  up  to 
him  then,  demanding: 

"What  in  the  world  are  you  up  to  now?  Not 
going  to  swipe  my  clothes,  are  you  ?" 

"I'd  have  the  right/*  he  called  back  over  his 
shoulder,  "if  I  happened  to  need  a  makeshift 
dressing-gown.  As  it  is,  however,  I  am  trying  to 
get  my  spur  out  of  the  thing." 

"You  great  big  brute !"  she  wailed  at  him,  and 
here  she  came  running  along  the  bank.  "You 
just  dare  to  tear  my  cloak  and  I'll  hound  you 
out  of  the  country  for  it !  I  drove  forty  miles 
to  get  it  and  this  is  the  first  time  I  ever  wore  it. 
Stupid!"  And  she  jerked  both  the  garment  and 
the  spur  from  him. 

The  lining  was  silken,  of  a  deep,  rich,  golden 
hue.  And  already  it  was  torn,  although  but  the 
tiniest  bit  in  the  world,  by  one  of  the  sharp  spikes. 
Her  temper,  however,  ever  ready  it  seemed, 
flared  out  again;  the  crinkling  merriment  went 
from  her  eyes,  leaving  no  trace;  the  color  warmed 
in  her  cheeks  as  she  cried : 

"You're  just  like  all  of  the  rest  of  your  breed, 
big  and  awkward,  crowding  in  where  you  don't 

10 


Steve  Dives  into  Deep  Waters 

belong,  messing  up  the  face  of  the  earth,  spoiling 
things  right  and  left.  I  wonder  if  the  good  Lord 
Himself  knows  what  he  made  men  for,  anyway!" 

The  offending  spur,  detached  by  her  quick 
fingers,  described  a  bright  arc  in  the  late  sunlight, 
flew  far  out,  dipped  in  a  little  leaping  spurt  of 
spray,  and  went  down  quietly  in  the  lake. 

"Go  jump  in  and  get  that,  if  you  are  so  keen  on 
saving  things,"  she  mocked  him.  "There's  only 
about  fifteen  feet  of  water  to  dig  through." 

"You  little  devil!"  he  said. 

For  the  spur  with  its  companion  had  cost  him 
twenty  dollars  down  on  the  Mexican  border  ten 
days  ago  and  he  had  set  much  store  by  it. 

"Little  devil,  am  I?"  she  retorted  readily. 
"  You'll  know  it  if  you  don't  keep  on  your  side  of 
the  road.  Look  at  that  tear!  Just  look  at  it!" 

She  had  stepped  quite  close  to  him,  holding 
out  the  cloak,  her  eyes  lifted  defiantly  to  his.  He 
put  out  a  sudden  hand  and  laid  it  on  her  wet 
shoulder.  She  opened  her  eyes  widely  again  at 
the  new  look  in  his.  But  even  so  her  regard  was 
utterly  fearless. 

"Young  lady,"  he  said  sternly,  "so  help  me 
God,  I've  got  the  biggest  notion  in  the  world  to 
take  you  across  my  knee  and  give  you  the  spank- 
ing of  your  life.  If  I  did  crowd  in  where  I  don't 
belong,  as  you  so  sweetly  put  it,  it  was  at  least  to 

ii 


Man  to  Man 

do  you  a  kindness.  Another  time  I'd  know  better; 
I'd  sooner  do  a  favor  for  a  wildcat." 

"Take  your  dirty  paws  off  of  me,"  she  cried, 
wrenching  away  from  him.  "And — spank  me, 
would  you  ?"  The  fire  leaped  higher  in  her  eyes, 
the  red  in  her  cheeks  gave  place  to  an  angrier 
white.  "If  you  ever  so  much  as  dare  touch  me 
again " 

She  broke  off,  panting.  Packard  laughed  at 
her. 

"You'd  try  to  scratch  me,  I  suppose,"  he 
jeered;  "and  then,  after  the  fashion  of  your  own 
sweet  sex  when  you  don't  have  the  strength  to 
put  a  thing  across,  you'd  most  likely  cry !" 

"I'd  blow  your  ugly  head  off  your  shoulders 
with  a  shot-gun,"  she  concluded  briefly. 

And  despite  the  extravagance  of  the  words 
it  was  borne  in  upon  Packard's  understanding  that 
she  meant  just  exactly  what  she  said. 

He  was  getting  colder  all  the  time  and  knew 
that  in  a  moment  his  teeth  would  chatter.  So  a 
second  time  he  turned  his  back  on  her,  gathered 
up  his  horse's  reins,  and  moved  away,  seeking  a 
spot  in  the  woods  where  he  could  get  dry  and  sun 
his  clothes.  And  since  Packard  rage  comes 
swiftly  and  more  often  than  not  goes  the  same 
way,  within  five  minutes  over  a  comforting  ciga- 
rette he  was  grinning  widely,  seeing  in  a  flash  all  of 

12 


Steve  Dives  into  Deep  Waters 

the  humor  of  the  situation  which  had  successfully 
concealed  itself  from  him  until  now. 

"And  I  don't  blame  her  so  much,  after  all/'  he 
chuckled.  "Taking  a  nice,  lonely  dive,  to  have  a 
fool  of  a  man  grab  her  all  of  a  sudden  when  she 
was  enjoying  herself  half  a  dozen  feet  under  water  ! 
It's  enough  to  stir  up  a  good  healthy  temper. 
Which,  by  the  Lord,  she  has !" 


CHAPTER  II 

MISS    BLUE    CLOAK    KNOWS    WHEN    SHE*S    BEAT 

HALF  an  hour  later,  his  clothing  wrung  out 
and  sun-dried  after  a  fashion,  Packard 
dressed,  swung  up  into  the  saddle,  and  turned 
back  into  the  trail.  And  through  the  trees,  where 
their  rugged  trunks  made  an  open  vista,  he  saw 
not  two  hundred  yards  away  the  gay  spot  of  color 
made  by  the  blue  cloak.  So  she  was  still  here, 
lingering  down  the  road  that  wound  about  the 
lake's  shores,  when  already  he  had  fancied  her 
far  on  her  way.  He  wondered  for  the  first  time 
where  that  way  led  ? 

He  drew  rein  among  the  pines,  waiting  in  his 
turn  for  her  to  go  on.  The  blue  cloak  did  not 
move.  He  leaned  to  one  side  to  see  better,  peer- 
ing around  a  low-flung  cedar  bough.  His  trail 
here  led  to  the  road;  he  must  pass  her  unless  she 
went  on  soon. 

Beside  the  vivid  hue  of  her  cloak  the  sunlight 
streaming  through  the  forest  showed  him  another 
bright,  gay  color,  a  streak  of  red  which  through 
the  underbrush  he  was  at  first  at  a  loss  to  account 
for.  He  would  have  said  that  she  was  seated  in 


Miss  Blue  Cloak  Knows 

a  low-bodied,  red  wagon,  were  it  not  that  if  such 
had  been  the  case  he  must  have  seen  the  horses. 

"An  automobile!"  he  guessed. 

He  rode  on  a  score  of  steps  and  stopped  again. 
Sure  enough,  there  she  sat  at  the  steering-wheel  of 
a  long,  rakish  touring-car,  the  slump  of  her  shoul- 
ders vaguely  hinting  at  despair  and  perhaps  a 
stalled  engine.  His  grin  widened  joyously.  He 
touched  his  horse  with  his  one  spur,  assumed  an 
expression  of  vast  indifference,  and  rode  on.  She 
jerked  up  her  head,  looked  about  at  him  swiftly, 
gave  him  her  shoulder  again. 

He  rode  into  the  road  and  came  on  with  tan- 
talizing slowness,  knowing  that  she  would  want 
to  turn  again  and  guessing  that  she  would  con- 
quer the  impulse.  A  few  paces  behind  her  he 
stopped  again,  rolling  a  fresh  cigarette  and  seem- 
ing, as  he  had  been  before  the  meeting,  the  most 
leisurely  man  in  the  world. 

He  saw  her  lean  forward,  busied  with  ignition 
and  starter;  he  fancied  that  the  little  breeze 
brought  to  him  the  faintest  of  guarded  exclama- 
tions. 

"The  blamed  old  thing  won't  go,"  chuckled 
Packard  with  vast  satisfaction.  "Some  car,  too. 
Boyd-Merril  Twin  Eight,  latest  model.  And 
dollars  to  doughnuts  I  know  just  what's  wrong — 
and  she  doesn't!" 


Man  to  Man 

She  ignored  him  with  such  a  perfect  uncon- 
sciousness of  his  presence  in  the  same  world  with 
her  that  he  was  moved  to  a  keen  admiration. 

"I'll  bet  her  face  is  as  red  as  a  beet,  just  the 
same,"  was  his  cheerful  thought.  "And  right 
here,  Steve  Packard,  is  where  you  don't  'crowd 
in'  until  you're  called  on." 

She  straightened  up,  sitting  very  erect,  her  two 
hands  tense  upon  the  useless  wheel.  He  noted 
the  poise  of  her  head  and  found  in  it  something 
almost  queenly.  For  a  moment  they  were  both 
very  still,  he  watching  and  feeling  his  sense  per- 
vaded by  the  glowing  sensation  that  all  was  right 
with  the  world,  she  holding  her  face  averted  and 
keeping  her  thoughts  to  herself. 

Presently  she  got  out  and  lifted  the  hood,  look- 
ing in  upon  the  engine,  despairing.  But  did  not 
glance  toward  him.  Then  she  closed  the  hood 
and  returned  to  her  seat,  once  more  attempting 
to  get  some  sort  of  response  from  the  starting 
system.  Packard  felt  himself  fairly  beaming  all 
over. 

"I  may  be  a  low-lived  dog  and  a  deep-dyed  vil- 
lain besides,"  he  was  frank  to  admit  to  himself. 
"But  right  now  I'm  having  the  time  of  my  life. 
And  I  wouldn't  bet  two  bits  which  way  she's 
going  to  jump  next,  either — never  having  met 
just  her  type  before." 

16 


Miss  Blue  Cloak  Knows 

"Well?  "she  said  abruptly. 

She  hadn't  moved,  hadn't  so  much  as  turned  her 
head  to  look  at  him.  If  she  had  done  so  just  then 
perhaps  Packard's  extremely  good-humored  smile, 
a  contented,  eminently  satisfied  smile,  would  not 
have  warmed  her  to  him. 

"Speak  to  me  ?"  he  asked  innocently. 

"I  did.  Simply  because  there's  nobody  else 
to  speak  to.  Don't  happen  to  know  anything 
about  motor-cars,  do  you  ?" 

It  was  all  very  icily  enunciated,  but  had  no 
noticeably  freezing  effect  upon  the  man's  mood. 

"I  sure  do,"  he  told  her  cheerfully.  "Know 
'em  from  front  bumper  to  tail-lamp.  Yours  is  a 
Boyd-Merril,  Twin  Eight,  this  year's  model. 
Fox- Whiting  starting  and  lighting  system.  Great 
little  car,  too,  if  you  ask  me." 

"What  I  was  going  to  ask  you,"  came  the  cool 
little  voice,  more  haughtily  than  ever,  "was  not 
what  you  think  of  the  car  but  if  you — if  you  hap- 
pened to  know  how  to  make  the  miserable  thing 

go." 

"Sure,"  he  replied  to  the  back  of  her  head,  with 
all  of  his  former  pleasant  manner.  "Pull  out 
the  ignition  button;  push  down  the  starter  pedal 
with  your  right  foot;  throw  out  the  clutch  with 
your  left;  put  her  into  low;  let  in  your  clutch 
slowly;  give  her  a  little— 

17 


Man  to  Man 

"Smarty!"  He  had  counted  upon  some  such 
interruption  and  chuckled  when  it  came.  "I 
know  all  that." 

"Then  why  don't  you  do  it?"  he  queried  in- 
nocently. " You're  right  square  in  my  way,  the 
road's  narrow,  and  I've  got  to  be  moving  on." 

"I  don't  do  it,"  she  informed  that  portion  of 
the  world  which  lay  immediately  in  front  of  her 
slightly  elevated  nose,  "because  it  won't  work. 
I  pulled  out  the  ignition  button  and — and  noth- 
ing happened.  Then  I  tried  to  force  down  the 
starter  pedal  and  the  crazy  thing  won't  go  down." 

"I  see,"  said  Packard  interestedly.  "Don't 
know  a  whole  lot  about  cars,  do  you  ? " 

"The  world  wasn't  made  overnight,"  she  said 
tartly.  "I've  had  this  pesky  thing  a  month. 
Do  you  know  what's  the  matter?" 

He  took  his  time  in  replying.  He  was  so  long 
about  it,  in  fact,  that  Miss  Blue  Cloak  stirred  un- 
easily and  finally  shot  him  a  questioning  look  over 
her  shoulder,  just  to  make  sure,  he  suspected,  that 
he  hadn't  slipped  away  and  left  her. 

"Well? "she  asked  again. 

"Speak  to  me  ?"  he  repeated  himself,  pretending 
to  start  from  a  deep  abstraction.  "Oh,  do  I 
know  what's  the  matter  ?  Sure  !" 

She  waited  a  reasonable  length  of  time  for  him 
to  go  on.  He,  secure  in  the  sense  of  his  own  mas- 

18 


Miss  Blue  Cloak  Knows 

tery  of  the  situation,  waited  for  her.  Between 
them  they  allowed  it  to  grow  very  quiet  there 
in  the  wood  by  the  lake  shore.  He  saw  her  glance 
furtively  at  the  lowering  sun. 

"If  you  do  know,"  she  said  finally  and  some- 
what faintly,  but  as  frigidly  as  ever,  "will  you  tell 
me  or  won't  you  ?" 

"Why,"  he  said,  as  though  he  had  not  thought 
of  it,  "I  don't  know.  If  I  were  really  sure  that 
I  was  needed.  You  know  it's  mighty  hard  telling 
these  days  when  you  stumble  upon  a  damsel  in 
distress  whether  a  stranger's  aid  is  welcome  or  not. 
If  there's  one  thing  I  won't  do  it's  shove  myself 
forward  when  I'm  not  wanted." 

"You're  a  nasty  animal!"  she  cried  hotly. 

"For  all  I  know,"  he  resumed  in  an  untroubled 
tone,  "the  end  of  your  journey  may  be  just 
around  the  bend,  about  a  hundred  yards  off.  And 
if  I  plunged  in  to  be  of  assistance  I  might  be  sus- 
pected of  being  a  fresh  guy." 

"It's  half  a  dozen  miles  to  the  ranch-house," 
she  condescended  to  tell  him.  "And  it's  going  to 
get  dark  in  no  time.  And  if  you  want  to  know, 
Mr.  Smarty,  that's  as  close  as  I've  ever  come  or 
ever  will  come  to  asking  anything  of  any  man 
that  ever  lived." 

He  could  have  sat  there  until  dark  just  for  the 
sheer  joy  of  teasing  her,  making  her  pay  a  little 

19 


Man  to  Man 

for  her  recent  treatment  of  him.  But  there  was 
a  note  of  finality  in  her  voice  which  did  not  escape 
him;  in  another  moment  she  would  jump  down 
and  go  on  on  foot  and  he  knew  it.  So  at  last  he 
rode  up  to  the  car,  dismounted,  and  lifted  the  hood. 

" Ignition,"  he  ordered  her. 

She  pulled  out  the  little  button  again.  His  eyes 
upon  hers,  his  grin  frank  and  unconcealed,  he 
took  a  stone  from  the  road  and  with  it  tapped 
gently  upon  the  shaft  running  from  the  pump. 
Immediately  there  came  that  little  hissing  sound 
she  had  waited  for. 

"Starter,"  he  commanded. 

And  now  her  foot  upon  the  pedal  achieved  the 
desired  results;  the  engine  responded,  humming 
pleasantly.  He  closed  the  hood  and  stood  back 
eying  her  with  a  mingling  of  amusement  and 
triumph.  Her  face  reddened  slowly.  And  then, 
startling  him  with  its  unheralded  unexpectedness, 
a  gay  peal  of  laughter  from  her  made  quite  another 
girl  of  her,  a  dimpling,  radiant,  altogether  adorable 
and  desirable  creature. 

"Oh,  I  know  when  I'm  beat !"  she  cried  frankly. 
"You've  put  one  across  on  me  to-day,  Mr.  Man. 
And  since  you  meant  well  all  along  and  were 
just  simply  the  blunderheaded  man  God  made 
you,  I  guess  I  have  been  a  little  cat.  Good  luck 
to  you  and  a  worth-while  trail  to  ride." 

20 


Miss  Blue  Cloak  Knows 

She  blew  him  a  friendly  kiss  from  her  brown 
finger-tips,  bent  over  her  wheel,  and  took  the 
first  turn  in  the  road  at  a  swiftly  acquired  speed 
which  left  Steve  Packard  behind  in  dust  and  grow- 
ing wonderment. 

"And  she's  been  driving  only  a  month,"  was 
his  softly  whistled  comment.  "Reckless  little 
devil!"  ' 

Then,  in  his  turn  cocking  a  speculative  eye  at 
the  sun  in  the  west,  he  rode  on,  following  in  the 
track  made  by  the  spinning  automobile  tires. 


21 


CHAPTER  III 

I 

NEWS    OF   A    LEGACY 

TT  7HEN  Packard  came  to  a  forking  of  the 
V  T  roads  he  stopped  and  hesitated.  The  auto- 
mobile tracks  led  to  the  left;  he  was  tempted  to 
follow  them.  And  it  was  his  way  in  the  matter  of 
such  impulses  to  yield  to  temptation.  But  in  this 
case  he  finally  decided  that  common  sense  if  not 
downright  wisdom  pointed  in  the  other  direction. 
So,  albeit  a  bit  reluctantly,  he  swerved  to  the 
right. 

"We'll  see  you  some  other  time,  though,  Miss 
Blue  Cloak,"  he  pondered.  "For  I  have  a  notion 
it  would  be  good  sport  knowing  you." 

An  hour  later  he  made  out  a  lighted  window, 
sjen  and  lost  through  the  trees.  Conscious  of 
a  man's-sized  appetite  he  galloped  up  the  long 
lane,  turned  in  at  a  gate  sagging  wearily  upon  its 
hinges,  and  rode  to  the  door  of  the  lighted  house. 
The  first  glance  showed  him  that  it  was  a  long, 
low,  rambling  affair  resembling  in  dejectedness 
the  drooping  gate.  An  untidy  sort  of  man  in 
shirt-sleeves  and  smoking  a  pipe  came  to  the  door, 
kicking  into  silence  his  half-dozen  dogs. 

22 


News  of  a  Legacy 

"What's  the  chance  of  something  to  eat  and 
a  place  to  sleep  in  the  barn  ?"  asked  Packard. 

The  rancher  waved  his  pipe  widely. 

"Help  yourself,  stranger/'  he  answered,  in  a 
voice  meant  to  be  hospitable  but  which  through 
long  habit  had  acquired  an  unpleasantly  sullen 
tone.  "You'll  find  the  sleeping  all  right,  but 
when  it  conies  to  something  to  eat  you  can  take 
it  from  me  you'll  find  damn'  poor  picking.  Get 
down,  feed  your  horse,  and  come  in." 

When  he  entered  the  house  Packard  was  con- 
scious of  an  oddly  bare  and  cheerless  atmosphere 
which  at  first  he  was  at  a  loss  to  explain.  For 
the  room  was  large,  amply  furnished,  cheerfully 
lighted  by  a  crackling  fire  of  dry  sticks  in  the  big 
rock  fireplace,  and  a  lamp  swung  from  the  ceiling. 
What  the  matter  was  dawned  on  him  gradually: 
time  was  when  this  chamber  had  been  richly, 
even  exquisitely,  furnished  and  appointed.  Now 
it  presented  rather  a  dejected  spectacle  of  faded 
splendor,  not  entirely  unlike  a  fine  gentleman  of 
the  old  school  fallen  among  bad  companions  and 
into  tattered  ill  repute. 

The  untidy  host,  more  untidy  than  ever  here 
in  the  full  light,  dragged  his  slippered  feet  across 
the  threadbare  carpet  to  a  corner  cupboard,  from 
which  he  took  a  bottle  and  two  glasses. 

"We  can  have  a  drink  anyhow,"  he  said  in 

23 


Man  to  Man 

that  dubious  tone  which  so  harmonized  both  with 
himself  and  his  sitting-room.  "After  which  we'll 
see  what's  to  eat.  Terry  fired  the  cook  last  week 
and  there's  been  small  feasting  since." 

Packard  accepted  a  moderate  drink,  the  rancher 
filled  his  own  glass  generously,  and  they  drank 
standing.  This  ceremony  briefly  performed  and 
chairs  dragged  comfortably  up  to  the  fireplace, 
Packard's  host  called  out  loudly: 

"Hi,  Terry!  There's  a  man  here  wants  some- 
thing to  eat.  Anything  left?" 

"If  he's  hungry,"  came  the  cool  answer  from 
a  room  somewhere  toward  the  other  end  of  the 
long  house,  "why  can't  he  forage  for  himself? 
Wants  me  to  bring  his  rations  in  there  and  feed 
it  to  him,  I  suppose !" 

Packard  lifted  his  eyebrows  humorously. 

"Is  that  Terry?  "he  asked. 

"That's  Terry,"  grumbled  the  rancher.  " She's 
in  the  kitchen  now.  And  if  I  was  you,  pardner, 
and  had  a  real  hankering  for  grub  I'd  mosey 
right  along  in  there  while  there's  something  left." 
His  eye  roved  to  the  bottle  on  the  chimneypiece 
and  dropped  to  the  fire.  "I'll  trail  you  in  a 


minute." 


Here  was  invitation  sufficient,  and  Packard  rose 
swiftly,  went  out  through  the  door  at  the  end  of 
the  room,  passed  through  an  untidy  chamber 
which  no  doubt  had  been  intended  originally  as 

24 


News  of  a  Legacy 

a  dining-room,  and  so  came  into  lamplight  again 
and  the  presence  of  Miss  Blue  Cloak. 

He  made  her  a  bow  and  smiled  in  upon  her 
cheerfully.  She,  perched  on  an  oilcloth-covered 
table,  her  booted  feet  swinging,  a  thick  sandwich 
in  one  hand  and  a  steaming  cup  of  coffee  in  the 
other,  took  time  to  look  him  up  and  down  seri- 
ously and  to  swallow  before  she  answered  his  bow 
with  a  quick,  bird-like  nod. 

"Don't  mind  me,"  she  said  briefly,  having 
swallowed  again.  "Dig  in  and  help  yourself." 

On  the  table  beside  her  were  bread,  butter,  a 
very  dry  and  black-looking  roast,  and  a  blacker 
but  more  tempting  coffee-pot. 

"I  didn't  follow  you  on  purpose,5'  said  Packard. 
"Back  there  where  the  roads  forked  I  saw  that 
you  had  turned  to  the  left,  so  I  turned  to  the 
right." 

"All  roads  lead  to  Rome,"  she  said  around  the 
corner  of  the  big  sandwich.  "Anyway,  it's  all 
right.  I  guess  I  owe  you  a  square  meal  and  a 
night's  lodging  for  being  on  the  job  when  my  car 
stalled." 

"Not  to  mention  for  diving  into  the  lake  after 
you,"  amended  Packard. 

"I  wouldn't  mention  it  if  I  were  you,"  she  re- 
torted. "Seeing  that  you  just  made  a  fool  of 
yourself  that  time." 

She  openly  sniffed  the  air  as  he  stepped  by  her 
25 


Man  to  Man 

reaching  out  for  butcher-knife  and  roast.  "So 
you  are  dad's  kind,  are  you  ?  Hitting  the  booze 
every  show  you  get.  The  Lord  deliver  me  from 
his  chief  blunder.  Meaning  a  man." 

"He  probably  will,"  grinned  Packard  genially. 
"And  as  for  turning  up  your  nose  at  a  fellow  for 
taking  a  drop  o'  kindness  with  a  hospitable  host, 
why,  that's  all  nonsense,  you  know." 

Terry  kicked  her  high  heels  impudently  and 
vouchsafed  him  no  further  answer  beyond  that 
easy  gesture.  Packard  made  his  own  sandwich, 
found  the  salt,  poured  a  tin  cup  of  coffee. 

"The  sugar's  over  there."  She  jerked  her  head 
toward  a  shelf  on  which,  after  some  searching 
among  a  lot  of  empty  and  nearly  empty  cans, 
Packard  found  it.  "That's  all  there  is  and  pre- 
cious little  left;  help  yourself  but  don't  forget 
breakfast  comes  in  the  morning." 

"This  is  the  old  Slade  place,  isn't  it  ?"  Packard 
asked. 

"It  was,  about  the  time  the  big  wall  was  build- 
ing in  China.  Where' ve  you  been  the  last  couple 
of  hundred  years  ?  It's  the  Temple  place  now." 

"Then  you're  Miss  Temple?" 

"Teresa  Arriega  for  my  mother,  Temple  for 
my  dad,"  she  told  him  in  the  quick,  bright  way 
which  already  he  found  characteristic  of  her. 
"Terry  for  myself,  if  you  say  it  quick." 

He  had  suspected  from  the  beginning  that 
26 


News  of  a  Legacy 

there  was  Southern  blood  of  some  strain  in  her. 
Now  he  studied  her  frankly,  and,  just  to  try  her 
out,  said  carelessly: 

"If  you  weren't  so  tanned  you'd  be  quite  fair; 
your  eyes  are  gray  too.  Blue-gray  when  you 
smile,  dark  gray  when  you  are  angry;  and  yet 
you  say  your  mother  was  Mexican— 

"Mexican,  your  foot!"  she  flared  out  at  him, 
her  trim  little  body  stiffening  perceptibly,  her 
chin  proudly  lifted.  "The  Arriegas  were  pure- 
blooded  Castilian,  I'd  have  you  understand. 
There's  no  mongrel  about  me." 

He  drowned  his  satisfied  chuckle  with  a  draft 
of  coffee, 

"I'm  looking  for  a  job,"  he  said  abruptly. 
"Happen  to  know  of  any  of  the  cattle  outfits 
around  here  that  are  short-handed  ?" 

"Men  are  scarce  right  now,"  she  answered. 
"A  good  cattle-hand  is  as  hard  to  locate  as  a 
dodo  bird.  You  could  get  a  job  anywhere  if 
you're  worth  your  salt." 

"I  was  thinking,"  said  Packard,  "of  moseying 
on  to  Ranch  Number  Ten.  There's  a  man  I  used 
to  know — Bill  Royce,  his  name  is.  Foreman, 
isn't  he?" 

"So  you  know  Bill  Royce?"  countered  Terry. 
"Well,  that's  something  in  your  favor.  He's  a 
good  scout." 

"Then  he  is  still  foreman?" 
27 


Man  to  Man 

"I  didn't  say  so!  No,  he  isn't.  And  I  guess 
he'll  never  be  foreman  of  that  outfit  or  any  other 
again.  He's  blind." 

Old  Bill  Royce  blind !  Here  was  a  shock,  and 
Packard  sat  back  and  stared  at  her  speechlessly. 
Somehow  this  was  incredible,  unthinkable,  noth- 
ing short.  The  old  cattle-man  who  had  been  the 
hero  of  his  boyhood,  who  had  taught  him  to  shoot 
and  ride  and  swim,  who  had  been  so  vital  and  so 
quick  and  keen  of  eye — blind  ? 

"What  happened  to  him?"  asked  Packard 
presently. 

"Suppose  you  ask  him,"  she  retorted.  "If 
you  know  him  so  well.  He  is  still  with  the  out- 
fit. A  man  named  Blenham  is  the  foreman  now. 
He's  old  Packard's  right-hand  bower,  you  know." 

"But  Phil  Packard  is  dead.     And- 

"And  old  'Hell-Fire'  Packard,  Phil  Packard's 
father,  never  will  die.  He's  just  naturally  too 
low-down  mean;  the  devil  himself  wouldn't  have 
him." 

"Terry!"  came  the  voice  of  the  untidy  man, 
meant  to  be  remonstrative  but  chiefly  noteworthy 
for  a  newly  acquired  thickness  of  utterance. 

Terry's  eyes  sparkled  and  a  hot  flush  came  into 
her  cheeks. 

"Leave  me  alone,  will  you,  pa?"  she  cried 
sharply.  "I  don't  owe  old  Packard  anything; 

28 


News  of  a  Legacy 

no,  nor  Blenham  either.  You  can  walk  easy  all 
you  like,  but  I'm  blamed  if  I've  got  to.  If  you'd 
smash  your  cursed  old  bottle  on  their  heads  and 
take  a  brace  we'd  come  alive  yet." 

"  Remember  we  have  a  guest  with  us,"  grumbled 
Temple  from  his  place  by  the  sitting-room  fire. 

"Oh,  shoot!"  exclaimed  the  girl  impatiently. 
Reaching  out  for  a  second  sandwich  she  stabbed 
the  kitchen-knife  viciously  into  the  roast.  "I've 
a  notion  to  pack  up  and  clear  out  and  let  the  cut- 
throat crowd  clean  you  to  the  last  copper  and  pick 
your  bones  into  the  bargain.  When  did  you  ever 
get  anywhere  by  taking  your  hat  off  and  side- 
stepping for  a  Packard  ?  If  you're  so  all-fired 
strong  for  remembering,  why  don't  you  try  to 
remember  how  it  feels  to  stand  on  two  feet  like 
a  man  instead  of  crawling  on  your  belly  like  a 
worm !" 

"My  dear!"  expostulated  Temple. 

Terry  sniffed  and  paid  no  further  attention  to 
him. 

"Dad  was  all  man  once,"  she  said  without 
lowering  her  voice,  making  clearer  than  ever 
that  Miss  Terry  Temple  had  a  way  of  speaking 
straight  out  what  lay  in  her  mind,  caring  not  at 
all  who  heard.  "I'm  hoping  that  some  day  he'll 
come  back.  A  real  man  was  dad,  a  man's  man. 
But  that  was  before  the  Packards  broke  him  and 

29 


Man  to  Man 

stepped  on  him  and  kicked  him  out  of  the  trail. 
And,  believe  me,  the  Packards,  though  they 
ought  to  be  hung  to  the  first  tree,  are  men  just  the 
same!" 

"So  I  have  heard,"  admitted  the  youngest  of  the 
defamed  house.  "You  group  them  altogether  ? 
They're  all  the  same  then  ? " 

"Phil  Packard's  dead,"  she  retorted.  "So 
we'll  let  him  go  at  that.  Old  Hell-Fire  Packard, 
his  father,  is  the  biggest  lawbreaker  out  of  jail. 
He's  the  only  one  left,  and  from  the  looks  of  things 
he'll  keep  on  living  and  making  trouble  another 
hundred  years." 

"There  was  another  Packard,  wasn't  there?" 
he  insisted.  "Phil  Packard's  son,  the  old  man's 
grandson?" 

"Never  knew  him,"  said  Terry.  "A  scamp 
and  a  scalawag  and  a  tomfool,  though,  if  you 
want  to  know.  If  he  wasn't,  he'd  have  stuck  on 
the  job  instead  of  messing  around  in  the  dirty 
ports  of  the  seven  seas  while  his  old  thief  of  a 
grandfather  stole  his  heritage  from  him." 

"How's  that?"  he  asked  sharply.  "How  do 
you  mean  'stole'  it  from  him  ?" 

"The  same  way  he  gobbles  up  everything  else 
he  wants.  Ranch  Number  Ten  ought  to  belong 
to  the  fool  boy  now,  oughtn't  it  ?  And  here's 
old  Packard's  pet  dog  Blenham  running  the  outfit 

30 


News  of  a  Legacy 

in  old  Packard's  interests  just  the  same  as  if  it 
was  his  already.  Set  a  thief  to  rob  a  thief,"  she 
concluded  briefly. 

Steve  Packard  sat  bolt  upright  in  his  chair. 

"1  wouldn't  mind  getting  the  straight  of  this," 
he  told  her  quietly.  "I  thought  that  Philip 
Packard  had  sold  the  outfit  to  his  father  before 
his  death." 

"He  didn't  sell  it  to  anybody.  He  mortgaged 
it  right  up  to  the  hilt  to  the  old  man.  Then 
he  up  and  died.  Of  course  everything  he  left, 
amounting  mostly  to  a  pile  of  debts,  went  to  his 
good-for-nothing  son." 

A  light  which  she  could  not  understand,  eager 
and  bright,  shone  in  young  Packard's  eyes.  If 
what  she  told  him  were  true,  then  the  old  home 
ranch,  while  commonly  looked  upon  as  belonging 
already  to  his  grandfather,  was  the  property 
legally  of  Steve  Packard.  And  Blenham — yes, 
and  old  Bill  Royce — were  taking  his  pay.  Sud- 
denly infinite  possibilities  stretched  out  before 
him. 

"Come  alive!"  laughed  Terry.  "We  were 
talking  about  your  finding  a  job.  There's  one 
open  here  for  you;  first  to  teach  me  all  you  know 
about  the  insides  of  my  car;  second —  What's 
the  matter  ?  Gone  to  sleep  ? " 

He    started.     He    had    been    thinking    about 

31 


Man  to  Man 

Blenham  and  Bill  Royce.     As  Terry  continued 
to  stare  wonderingly  at  him  he  smiled. 

"If  you  don't  mind,"  he  said  non-commit tally, 
"we'll  forget  about  the  job  for  a  spell.  I  left 
some  stuff  back  at  the  Packard  ranch  that  be- 
longs to  me.  I'm  going  back  for  it  in  the  morning. 
Maybe  I'll  go  to  work  there  after  all." 

She  shrugged  distastefully. 

"It's  a  free  country,"  she  said  curtly.  "Only 
I  can't  see  your  play.  That  is,  if  you're  a  square 
guy  and  not  a  crook,  Number  Ten  size.  You've 
got  a  chance  to  go  to  work  here  with  a  white 
crowd;  if  you  want  to  tie  up  with  that  ornery 
bunch  it's  up  to  you." 

"I'll  look  them  over,"  he  said  thoughtfully. 

"All  right;  go  to  it!"  she  cried  with  sudden 
heat.  "I  said  it  was  a  free  country,  didn't  I  ? 
Only  you  can  burn  this  in  your  next  wheat-straw: 
once  you  go  to  riding  herd  with  that  gang  you 
needn't  come  around  here  again.  And  you  can 
take  Blenham  a  message  for  me:  Phil  Packard 
knifed  dad  and  double-crossed  him  and  made  him 
pretty  nearly  what  he  is  now;  old  Hell-Fire  Pack- 
ard finished  the  job.  But  just  the  same,  the  Tem- 
ple Ranch  is  still  on  the  map  and  Terry  Temple 
had  rather  scrap  a  scoundrel  to  the  finish  than 
shake  hands  with  one.  And  one  of  these  days 
dad's  going  to  come  alive  yet;  you'll  see." 

32 


News  of  a  Legacy 

"I  believe/'  he  said  as  much  to  himself  as  to  her, 
"that  Pll  have  to  have  a  word  with  old  man 
Packard." 

She  stared  at  him  incredulously.  Then  she 
put  her  head  back  and  laughed  in  high  amuse- 
ment. 

"Nobody'd  miss  guessing  that  you  had  your 
nerve  with  you,  Mr.  Lanky  Stranger/'  she  cried 
mirthfully.  "But  when  it  comes  to  tackling 
Hell-Fire  Packard  with  a  mouthful  of  fool  ques- 
tions—  Look  here;  who  are  you  anyway?" 

"Nobody  much/'  he  answered  quietly  and  just 
a  trifle  bitterly.  "Tom  Fool  you  named  me  a 
while  ago.  Or,  if  you  prefer,  Steve  Packard." 

She  flipped  from  her  place  on  the  table  to  stand 
erect,  twin  spots  of  red  leaping  into  her  cheeks, 
startling  him  with  the  manner  in  which  all  mirth 
fled  from  her  eyes,  which  narrowed  and  grew  hard. 

"That  would  mean  old  Hell-Fire's  grandson?" 
she  asked  sharply. 

He  merely  nodded,  watching  her  speculatively. 
Her  head  went  still  higher.  Packard  heard  her 
father  rise  hurriedly  and  shuffle  across  the  floor 
toward  the  kitchen. 

"  You're  a  worthy  chip  off  the  old  stump," 
Terry  was  saying  contemptuously.  "You're  a 
darned  sneak!" 

"Terry!"  admonished  Temple  warningly. 

33 


Man  to  Man 

Her  stiff  little  figure  remained  motionless  a 
moment,  never  an  eyelid  stirring.  Then  she 
whirled  and  went  out  of  the  room,  banging  a 
door  after  her. 

"She's  high-strung,  Mr.  Packard,"  said  Tem- 
ple, slow  and  heavy  and  a  bit  uncertain  in  his 
articulation.  "High-strung,  like  her  mother. 
And  at  times  apt  to  be  unreasonable.  Come  in 
with  me  and  have  a  drink,  and  we'll  talk  things 


over." 


Packard  hesitated.  Then  he  turned  and  fol- 
lowed his  host  back  to  the  fireplace.  Suddenly 
he  found  himself  without  further  enthusiasm  for 
conversation. 


34 


CHAPTER   IV 

TERRY   BEFORE    BREAKFAST 

A  GAY  young  voice  singing  somewhere 
through  the  dawn  awoke  Steve  Packard 
and  informed  him  that  Terry  was  up  and  about. 
He  lay  still  a  moment,  listening.  He  remembered 
the  song,  which,  by  the  way,  he  had  not  heard  for 
a  good  many  years,  the  ballad  of  a  cowboy  sick 
and  lonely  in  a  big  city,  yearning  for  the  open 
country.  At  times  when  Terry's  humming  was 
smothered  by  the  walls  of  the  house,  Packard's 
memory  strove  for  the  words  which  his  ears  failed 
to  catch.  And  more  often  than  not  the  words, 
retrieved  from  oblivion,  were  less  than  worth  the 
effort;  no  poet  had  builded  the  chant,  which, 
rather,  grown  to  goodly  proportions  of  perhaps  a 
hundred  verses,  had  resulted  from  a  natural 
evolution  like  a  modern  Odyssey,  or  some 
sprawling  vine  which  was  what  it  was  because 
of  its  environment.  But  while  lines  were  faulty 
and  rhymes  were  bad,  and  the  composition  never 
rose  above  the  commonplace,  and  often  enough 
sank  below  it,  the  ballad  was  sincere  and  meant 
much  to  those  who  sang  it.  Its  pictures  were 

35 


Man  to  Man 

homely.     Steve,  catching  certain  fragments  and 
seeking  others,  got  such  phrases  as: 

"  My  bed   on  dry  pine-needles,  my  camp-fire  blazin' 

bright, 

The  smell  of  dead  leaves  burnin'  through  the  big 
wide-open  night," 

and  with  moving  but  silent  lips  joined  Terry  in 
the  triumphant  refrain: 

"I'm  lonesome-sick  for  the  stars  through  the  pines 

An'  the  bawlin'  of  herds  .  .  .  an'  the  noise 
Of  rocks  rattlin'  down  from  a  mountain  trail  .  .  . 

An'  the  hills  .  .  .  an'  my  horse  .  .  .  an*  the  boys. 
An'  I'd  rather  hear  a  kiote  howl 

Than  be  the  King  of  Rome ! 
An'  when  day  comes — if  day  does  come — 
By  cripes,  I'm  goin'  home ! 

.  .  .     Back  home !     Hear  me  comin',  boys  ? 
Yeee!    I  said  it:    'Comin' home!" 

He  sat  up  in  bed.  The  fragrance  of  boiling 
coffee  and  frying  bacon  assailed  his  nostrils 
pleasurably.  Terry's  voice  had  grown  silent. 
Perhaps  she  was  having  her  breakfast  by  now  ? 
With  rather  greater  haste  than  the  mere  call  of 
his  morning  meal  would  seem  to  warrant,  he 
dressed,  ran  his  fingers  through  his  hair  by  way 
of  completing  his  toilet,  and,  going  down  a  hall- 
way, thrust  his  head  in  through  the  kitchen  door- 
way. 

36 


Terry  before  Breakfast 

"Good  morning,"  he  called  pleasantly. 

Terry  was  not  yet  breakfasting.  Down  on 
one  knee,  poking  viciously  into  the  fire-box  of 
an  extremely  old  and  dilapidated  stove,  she  was 
seeking,  after  the  time-honored  way  of  her  sex, 
to  make  the  fire  burn  better.  Her  face  was  rosy, 
flushed  prettily  with  the  glow  from  the  blazing 
oak  wood.  Packard's  eyes  brightened  as  he  looked 
at  her,  making  a  comprehensive  survey  of  the 
trim  little  form  from  the  top  of  her  bronze  hair 
to  the  heels  of  her  spick-and-span  boots.  About 
her  throat,  knotted  loosely,  was  a  flaming-red 
silken  scarf.  The  thought  struck  him  that  the 
Temple  fortunes,  the  Temple  ranch,  the  Temple 
master,  all  were  falling  or  had  already  fallen  into 
varying  states  of  decay,  and  that  alone  in  the 
wreckage  Terry  Temple  made  a  gay  spot  of  color, 
that  alone  Terry  Temple  was  determined  to  keep 
her  place  in  the  sun. 

Terry,  having  poked  a  goodly  part  of  the  fire 
out,  made  a  face  at  what  remained  and  got  to 
her  feet. 

"I've  been  thinking  about  you,"  she  said. 

"Fine!"  said  Packard.  "You  can  tell  me 
while  we  have  our  coffee." 

But  he  did  not  fail  to  mark  that  she  had  given 
him  no  ready  smile  by  way  of  welcome,  that  now 
she  regarded  him  coolly  and  critically.  In  her 

37 


Man  to  Man 

morning  attitude  there  was  little  to  lead  him  to 
hope  for  a  free-and-easy  chat  across  a  breakfast- 
table. 

"You  strike  me,"  said  Terry  abruptly  and 
emphatically,  "as  a  pretty  slick  proposition." 

"Why  so?"  asked  Packard  interestedly. 

"Because,"  said  Terry.  For  a  moment  he 
thought  that  she  was  going  to  stop  there.  But 
after  a  thoughtful  pause,  during  which  she  looked 
straight  at  him  with  eyes  which  were  meant  to 
be  merely  clear  and  judicial  but  which  were  just 
faintly  troubled,  she  went  on:  "Because  you're 
a  Packard,  to  begin  with." 

"Look  here,"  protested  young  Packard  equably, 
"I  didn't  think  that  of  you;  honestly,  I  didn't. 
How  are  you  and  I  ever  going  to  get  anywhere 
...  in  the  way  of  being  friends,  I  mean  ...  if 
you  start  out  by  blaming  me  for  what  my  dis- 
reputable old  scamp  of  a  grandfather  does  ?" 

Terry  sniffed  openly. 

"Forget  that  friendship  gag  before  you  think 
of  it,  will  you?"  she  said  quickly.  "Talking 
nice  isn't  going  to  get  you  anywhere  with  me  and 
you  might  as  well  remember  that.  It  won't  buy 
you  anything  to  start  in  telling  me  that  I've  got 
pretty  eyes  or  a  dimple,  and  I  won't  stand  one 
little  minute  for  your  pulling  any  of  that  girlie- 
stuff  on  me.  ...  I  said,  to  begin  with,  you're 

38 


Terry  before  Breakfast 

a  Packard.  That  ought  to  be  enough,  the  Lord 
knows  !  But  it's  not  all." 

"First  thing,"  he  suggested  cheerfully,  "are 
you  going  to  ask  me  to  have  breakfast  with  you  ?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered  briefly.  "Since  you  are 
here  and  since  dad  had  you  stay  all  night.  If 
you  were  the  devil  himself,  I'd  give  you  some- 
thing to  eat." 

"Being  merely  the  devil's  grandson,"  grinned 
Packard,  "suppose  I  tuck  in  and  help?  I'll  set 
the  table  while  you  do  the  cooking." 

"I  don't  bother  setting  any  table,"  said  Terry 
as  tartly  as  she  knew  how.  "Besides,  the  coffee 
and  bacon  are  both  done  and  that's  all  the  cook- 
ing there  is.  You  know  where  the  bread  and 
butter  and  sugar  are.  Help  yourself.  There  isn't 
any  milk." 

She  poured  her  own  coffee,  made  a  sandwich 
of  bacon  and  bread,  and  went  to  sit  as  he  had 
found  her  last  night,  on  the  table,  her  feet  swing- 
ing. 

Steve  Packard  had  gone  to  sleep  filled  with 
high  hopes  last  night,  and  had  awakened  with 
a  fresh,  new  zest  in  life  this  morning.  Like  the 
cowboy  in  the  ballad,  he  had  wanted  nothing  in 
the  world  save  to  be  back  on  the  range,  and  he 
had  his  wish,  or  would  have  it  fully  in  a  few 
hours,  when  he  had  ridden  to  Ranch  Number  Ten. 

39 


Man  to  Man 

Fully  appreciating  Terry's  prejudices,  he  had 
meant  to  remember  that  she  was  "just  a  kid  of  a 
girl,  you  know,"  and  to  banter  her  out  of  them. 
Now  he  was  ready  to  acknowledge  that  he  had 
failed  to  give  Terry  her  due;  with  a  sudden  access 
of  irritation  it  was  borne  in  upon  him  that  if  she 
was  fully  minded  to  be  stand-offish  and  un- 
pleasant, he  had  something  more  than  just  a  kid 
of  a  girl  to  deal  with.  Frowning,  he  sought  his 
tobacco  and  papers. 

"Going  to  eat?"  asked  Terry  carelessly.  "Or 
not?" 

"I  don't  know  .  .  .  yet,"  he  returned,  lifting 
his  eyes  from  his  cigarette.  "Most  certainly 
not  if  you  don't  want  me  to." 

"Ho  !"  taunted  Terry,  the  bright  light  of  battle 
in  her  eyes.  "Climbing  on  your  high  horse,  are 
you  ?  Well,  then,  stay  there." 

Packard  lighted  his  cigarette  and  returned  her 
look  steadily. 

"  Kid  of  a  girl,  nothing ! "  he  told  himself.  And 
going  back  to  his  epithet  of  yesterday,  "Little 
wildcat." 

"Then,"  continued  the  girl  evenly,  taking  up 
the  conversation  where  it  had  broken  down  some 
time  ago,  "I'll  say  what  I've  got  to  say.  First, 
because  you're  a  Packard.  Next,  because  it  was 
pretty  slick  work,  that  stunt  of  yours,  diving  into 

40 


Terry  before  Breakfast 

the  lake  for  me,  pretending  you  didn't  know  who 
I  was,  and  grabbing  the  first  chance  to  get  ac- 
quainted. Much  good  it'll  do  you !  Maybe  I 
haven't  been  through  high  school  and  you  have 
fussed  around  at  college;  just  the  same,  Mr. 
Steve  Packard,  Terry  Temple's  not  your  fool  or 
any  other  man's  !  And,  on  top  of  all  of  your  other 
nerve,  to  try  and  make  me  think  you  didn't  know 
you  owned  your  own  ranch  !  And  trying  to  pump 
me  and  corkscrewing  away  at  dad  when  he  was 
full  of  whiskey.  .  .  .  Pah !  Your  kind  of  he- 
animal  makes  me  sick." 

"You  think,"  he  offered  stiffly,  "that  I'm  hand 
and  glove  with  Blenham  ?  And,  perhaps,  that 
I'm  taking  orders  from  my  grandfather,  trying 
to  put  one  over  on  you  ?" 

" Thinking's  not  the  right  word,"  she  corrected 
sharply.  "I  know." 

He  shrugged.  As  he  did  so  it  struck  him  that 
there  was  nothing  else  for  him  to  do.  She  had 
the  trick  of  utter  finality. 

"And,"  she  called  after  him  as  he  turned  ab- 
ruptly to  leave  the  room,  "you  can  tell  old  Hell 
Fire  for  me  that  maybe  he's  got  the  big  bulge 
on  the  situation  right  now  but  that  it's  bad  luck 
to  count  your  chips  until  the  game  is  over.  There's 
a  come-back  left  in  dad  yet,  and  .  .  .  and  if  you 
or  your  hell-roaring  old  granddad  think  you  can 


Man  to  Man 

swallow  the  Temple  outfit  whole,  like  you've  done 
a  lot  of  other  outfits  .  .  ." 

Packard  went  out  and  slammed  the  door  after 
him. 

"Damn  the  girl!"  he  muttered  angrily. 

Terry,  sitting  on  the  table,  grew  very  still, 
ceased  the  swinging  of  her  feet,  and  turned,  to 
peek  cautiously  out  at  him  from  the  kitchen 
window.  Her  look  was  utterly  joyous. 

"Men  are  always  horrid  creatures  before 
they've  had  their  breakfasts,"  she  informed  the 
stillness  about  her  complacently. 


42 


CHAPTER  V 

HOW  STEVE  PACKARD  CAME  HOME 

HAD  Steve  Packard  ridden  straightway  back 
to  Ranch  Number  Ten  he  would  have  ar- 
rived at  the  ranch  headquarters  long  before  noon. 
But,  once  out  in  the  still  dawn,  he  rode  slowly. 
His  mind,  when  he  could  detach  it  from  that  irri- 
tating Terry  Pert,  was  given  over  to  a  searching 
consideration  of  those  conditions  which  were  be- 
ginning to  dawn  on  him. 

It  was  clear  that  his  destiny  was  offering  him  a 
new  trail  to  blaze,  one  which  drew  him  on  with 
its  lure,  tempting  him  with  its  vague  promises. 
There  was  nothing  to  cause  surprise  in  the  fact 
that  the  ranch  was  his  to  have  and  to  hold  if  he 
had  the  skill  and  the  will  for  the  job;  nor  yet  in 
the  other  fact  that  the  outfit  was  mortgaged  to 
his  grandfather;  nor,  again,  was  it  to  be  wondered 
at  that  the  old  man  was  already  acting  as  actual 
owner.  For  never  had  the  oldest  Packard  had  any 
use  for  the  subtleties  and  niceties  and  confusing 
technicalities  of  the  law.  It  was  his  way  to  see 
clearly  what  he  wanted,  to  make  up  his  mind 
definitely  as  to  a  desired  result,  and  then  to  go 

43 


Man  to  Man 

after  it  the  shortest  way.  And  that  way  had 
never  led  yet  through  the  law-courts. 

These  matters  were  clear.  But  as  he  dwelt 
upon  them  they  were  made  complex  by  other  con- 
siderations hingeing  upon  him.  Most  of  all  he 
had  to  take  stock  of  what  lay  in  his  own  mind 
and  soul,  of  all  that  dwelt  behind  his  present 
purpose. 

Riding  back  to  Ranch  Number  Ten,  saying, 
"It  is  mine  and  I  mean  to  have  it,"  was  simple 
enough.  But  for  him  actually  to  commit  himself 
to  the  line  of  action  which  this  step  would  entail 
would  very  obviously  connote  a  distinct  depar- 
ture from  the  familiar,  aimless,  responsibility-free 
career  of  Steve  Packard. 

If  he  once  sat  into  the  game  he'd  want  to  stick 
for  a  showdown;  if  he  started  out  now  bucking 
old  man  Packard,  he  would  perhaps  wind  up  in 
the  scrap-heap.  It  was  just  as  well  to  think 
things  over  before  he  plunged  in — which  set  him 
musing  upon  Terry  again. 

Swerving  from  yesterday's  path,  he  followed 
a  new  trail  leading  about  the  edge  of  the  Temple 
ranch  and  into  the  southeastern  borders  of  Ranch 
Number  Ten.  At  a  logging-camp  well  up  on  the 
slope  of  the  mountains  just  after  he  had  forded 
the  upper  waters  of  Packard's  Creek,  he  break- 
fasted on  warmed-over  coffee  and  greasy  hot  cakes. 

44 


How  Steve  Packard  Came  Home 

He  opened  his  eyes  interestedly  as  he  watched  a 
gang  of  timber-jacks  cutting  into  a  forest  of  his 
pines. 

"Old  man  Packard's  crowd?"  he  asked  the 
camp  cook. 

"Sure  thing,"  was  the  cook's  careless  answer. 

Steve  Packard  rode  on,  grown  more  thoughtful 
than  before.  But  he  directed  his  course  this  way 
and  that  on  a  speculative  tour  of  investigation, 
seeking  to  see  the  greater  part  of  the  big,  sprawl- 
ing ranch,  to  note  just  what  had  been  done,  just 
what  was  being  done,  before  having  his  talk  with 
Blenham.  And  so  the  first  stars  were  out  be- 
fore he  came  once  more  to  the  home  corrals. 

While  Steve  was  turning  down  into  Packard's 
Grab  from  the  foot-hills  the  men  working  for 
Ranch  Number  Ten,  having  eaten  their  supper, 
were  celebrating  the  end  of  a  hard  day's  work  with 
tobacco  smoke  and  desultory  talk. 

There  were  a  dozen  of  them,  clear-eyed,  iron- 
muscled,  quick-footed  to  the  last  man  of  them. 
For  wherever  Packard  pay  was  taken  it  went  into 
the  pockets  of  just  such  as  these,  purposeful,  self- 
reliant,  men's  men  who  could  be  counted  on  in  a 
pinch  and  who,  that  they  might  be  held  in  the 
service  which  required  such  as  they,  were  paid 
a  better  wage  than  other  ranches  offered. 

45 


Man  to  Man 

Young,  most  of  them,  too,  boisterous  when 
upon  occasion  their  hands  were  idle,  devil-may- 
care  scalawags  who  had  earned  in  many  a  little 
cattle  town  up  and  down  the  country  their  title 
as  "that  wild  gang  of  Packard's,"  prone  to  head- 
long ways  and  yet  dependable. 

There  are  such  men;  Packard  knew  it  and 
sought  them  out  and  held  them  to  him.  The  old- 
est man  there,  saving  Bill  Royce  only,  was  Blen- 
ham  the  foreman,  and  Blenham  had  yet  to  see 
his  thirty-fifth  birthday. 

Ten  years  ago,  that  is  to  say  before  he  came  into 
the  cattle  country  and  found  work  for  Packard, 
Blenham  had  been  a  sergeant  in  the  regular  army, 
had  seen  something  of  service  on  the  border. 
Now,  in  his  dealings  with  the  men  under  him,  he 
brought  here  all  that  he  had  learned  from  a  mili- 
tary life. 

He  held  himself  aloof,  was  seldom  to  be  found 
in  the  bunk-house,  making  his  quarters  in  the  old 
ranch-house.  He  was  crisp  and  final  in  his  orders 
and  successful  in  exacting  swift  attention  when  he 
spoke  and  immediate  obedience  when  he  ordered. 

Few  of  his  men  liked  him;  he  knew  this  as  well 
as  another  and  cared  not  the  snap  of  his  big, 
blunt  fingers.  There  was  remarkably  little  of 
the  sentimental  about  Blenham.  He  was  a  capa- 
ble lieutenant  for  such  as  the  master  of  the  Packard 


How  Steve  Packard  Came  Home 

millions,  he  earned  and  received  his  increase  in 
wages  every  year,  he  got  results. 

This  evening,  however,  the  man's  heavy,  stud- 
ied indifference  to  all  about  him  was  ruffled. 
During  the  afternoon  something  had  gone  wrong 
and  no  one  yet,  save  "Cookie"  Wilson,  had  an 
inkling  of  what  had  plunged  the  foreman  into  one 
of  his  ill-tempered  fits. 

To-morrow  it  would  be  a  ranch  topic  when 
Cookie  could  have  had  ample  time  to  embroider 
the  thin  fabric  of  his  surmise;  for  it  had  fallen 
to  the  cook's  lot  to  answer  the  bunk-house  tele- 
phone when  there  had  been  a  long-distance  mes- 
sage for  Blenham — and  Wilson  recognized  old  man 
Packard's  voice  in  a  fit  of  rage. 

No  doubt  the  foreman  of  Ranch  Number  Ten 
had  "slipped  up"  somewhere,  and  his  chief,  in  a 
very  few  words  and  those  of  a  brand  not  to  be 
misunderstood,  had  taken  him  to  task.  At  any 
rate  Cookie  was  swelling  with  eager  conjecture 
and  Blenham  was  in  an  evil  mood.  All  evening 
his  spleen  had  been  rising  in  his  throat,  near  chok- 
ing him;  now  suddenly  he  spewed  it  upon  Bill 
Royce. 

"Royce!"  he  burst  out  abruptly. 

The  blind  man  was  lying  upon  the  edge  of  his 
bunk  at  the  far  end  of  the  room,  smoking  his 
pipe.  He  stirred  uneasily. 

47 


Man  to  Man 

"Well?"  he  asked.     "What  is  it?" 

"Cool  old  cucumber,  ain't  you?"  jeered  Blen- 
ham.  "Layin'  there  like  a  bag  of  mush  while 
you  listen  to  me.  Damn  you,  when  I  talk  to  you, 
stand  up !" 

Royce's  form  stiffened  perceptibly  and  his  lips 
tightened  about  the  stem  of  his  pipe.  But  be- 
fore he  could  shape  his  rejoinder  there  came  an 
unexpected  voice  from  one  of  the  four  men  just 
beginning  a  game  of  pedro  under  the  swinging 
lamp,  a  young  voice,  impudent,  clear-toned,  al- 
most musical. 

"Tell  him  to  go  to  hell,  Bill,"  was  the  freely 
proffered  counsel. 

Blenham  swung  about  on  his  heel,  his  eyes 
narrowing. 

"That  you,  Barbee?"  he  demanded  sharply. 

"Sure  it's  me,"  rejoined  Barbee  with  the  same 
cool  impudence.  And  to  the  man  across  the  table 
from  him,  "Deal  'em  up,  Spots;  you  an'  me  is 
goin'  to  pry  these  two  bum  gamblers  loose  from 
their  four-bit  pieces  real  pronto  by  the  good  ol' 
road  of  high,  low,  jack,  an'  the  game.  Come 
ahead,  Spots-ol'-Spotty." 

Blenham  stared  a  moment,  obviously  surprised 
by  this  attitude  taken  by  young  Barbee. 

"I'll  attend  to  you  when  I  got  nothin'  else  to 
do,  Barbee,"  he  said  shortly.  And,  giving  the 


How  Steve  Packard  Came  Home 

whole  of  his  attention  again  to  the  man  on  the 
bunk,  "Royce,  I  said  when  I  talk  to  you  to  stand 
up!" 

To  the  last  man  of  them,  even  to  young  Bar- 
bee,  who  had  made  his  youthful  pretense  at  an 
all-embracing  interest  in  the  cards,  they  turned  to 
watch  Bill  Royce  and  see  what  he  would  do. 

They  saw  that  Royce  lay  a  moment  as  he  was, 
stiff  and  rigid  to  his  hands  and  feet,  that  his  face 
had  gone  a  fiery  red  which  threw  the  white  of  the 
long  scar  across  his  nose  into  bloodless  contrast, 
that  the  most  obvious  thing  in  the  world  was  that 
for  the  moment  his  mind  was  torn  two  ways,  dual- 
purposed,  perfectly  balanced,  so  that  in  the  grip 
of  his  contending  passions  he  was  powerless  to 
stir,  a  picture  of  impotence,  like  a  man  paralyzed. 

"Blenham,"  he  said  presently  without  moving, 
his  voice  uncertain  and  thick  and  ugly,  "Blen- 
ham  " 

"I  said  it  once,"  cried  Blenham  sharply,  "an5 
I  said  it  twice.  Which  ought  to  be  enough,  Bill 
Royce!  Hear  me?" 

They  all  watched  interestedly.  Bill  Royce 
moistened  his  lips  and  presented  his  pitiful  spec- 
tacle of  a  once-strong  man  on  the  verge  of  yield- 
ing to  his  master,  to  the  man  he  hated  most  on 
earth.  A  smile  came  into  Blenham's  expectant 
eyes. 

49 


Man  to  Man 

The  brief  silence  was  perfect  until  the  youth- 
ful Barbee  broke  it,  not  by  speech  but  by  whistling 
softly,  musically,  impudently.  And  the  air  which 
Barbee  selected  at  this  juncture,  though  not  drawn 
from  the  classics,  served  its  purpose  adequately; 
the  song  was  a  favorite  in  the  range-lands,  the 
refrain  simple,  profane,  and  sincere.  Translated 
into  words  Barbee's  merry  notes  were: 

"Oh,  I  don't  give  a  damn  for  no  damn  man  that 
don't  give  a  damn  for  me!" 

Blenham  understood  and  scowled  at  him;  Bill 
Royce's  hesitant  soul  may  have  drawn  comfort  and 
strength  from  a  sympathy  wordlessly  expressed. 
At  any  rate  his  reply  came  suddenly  now: 

"I've  took  a  good  deal  ofFn  you,  Blenham," 
he  said  quietly.  "I'd  be  glad  to  take  all  I  could. 
But  a  man  can't  stand  everything,  no,  not  even 
for  a  absent  pal.  Like  Barbee  said,  you  know 
where  you  can  go." 

Cookie  Wilson  gasped,  his  the  sole  audible 
comment  upon  an  entirely  novel  situation.  Bar- 
bee  smiled  delightedly.  Blenham  continued  to 
frown,  his  scowl  subtly  altered  from  fierceness  to 
wonder. 

"You'll    obey    orders,"    he    snapped    shortly, 


know,"  replied  Royce  heavily.    "Go  to  it. 
All  you  got  to  do  is  fire  me." 

SO 


How  Steve  Packard  Came  Home 

And  now  the  pure  wonder  of  the  moment  was 
that  Blenham  did  not  discharge  Royce  in  three 
words.  It  was  his  turn  for  hesitation,  for  which 
there  was  no  explanation  forthcoming.  Then, 
gripped  by  a  rage  which  made  him  inarticulate, 
he  whirled  upon  Barbee. 

Yellow-haired  Barbee  at  the  table  promptly 
stood  up,  awaiting  no  second  invitation  to  that 
look  of  Blenham's.  Were  one  staging  a  morality 
play  and  in  search  of  the  personification  of  im- 
pertinence, he  need  look  no  farther  than  this 
cocksure  youth.  He  was  just  at  that  age  when 
one  is  determined  that  there  shall  be  no  mistake 
about  his  status  in  the  matters  of  age  and 
worldly  experience;  in  short,  something  over 
twenty-one,  when  the  male  of  the  species  takes 
it  as  the  insult  of  insults  to  be  misjudged  a  boy. 
His  hair  was  short — Barbee  always  kept  it  close 
cropped — but  for  all  that  it  persisted  in  curl- 
ing, seeking  to  express  itself  in  tight  little  rings 
everywhere;  his  eyes  were  very  blue  and  very 
innocent,  like  a*young  girl's — and  he  was,  all 
in  all,  just  about  as  good-for-nothing  a  young 
rogue  as  you  could  find  in  a  ten  days'  ride.  Which 
is  saying  rather  a  good  deal  when  it  be  under- 
stood that  that  ten  days'  ride  may  be  through  the 
cattle  country  back  of  San  Juan. 

"Coin'  to  eat  me  alive?"  demanded  Barbee 
lightly.  "Or  roast  me  first  ?" 


Man  to  Man 

"For  two  cents/'  said  Blenham  slowly,  "I'd 
forget  you're  just  a  kid  an'  slap  your  face !" 

Barbee  swept  one  of  the  fifty-cent  pieces  from 
the  table  and  tossed  it  to  the  foreman. 

"You  can  keep  the  change  out'n  that,"  he  said 
contemptuously. 

It  was  nothing  new  in  the  experience  of  Blen- 
ham, could  be  nothing  unforeseen  for  any  ranch 
foreman,  to  have  his  authority  called  into  ques- 
tion, to  have  a  rebellious  spirit  defy  him.  If  he 
sought  to  remain  master,  the  foreman's  answer 
must  be  always  the  same.  And  promptly  given. 

"Royce,"  said  Blenham,  his  hesitation  passed, 
"you're  fired.  Barbee,  I'll  take  you  on  right 


now." 


Few-worded  was  Blenham,  a  trick  learned 
from  his  master.  Across  the  room  Bill  Royce 
had  floundered  at  last  to  his  feet,  crying  out  might- 
ily: 

"Hi !  None  o'  that,  Blenham.  It's  my  fight, 
yours  an'  mine,  with  Barbee  jus'  buttin'  in  where 
he  ain't  asked.  If  you  want  trouble,  take  a 
man  your  size,  full-grown.  Blind  as  I  am — and 
you  know  the  how  an'  the  why  of  it — I'm  ready 
for  you.  Yes,  ready  an'  anxious." 

Here  was  diversion  and  the  men  in  the  bunk- 
house,  drawing  back  against  the  walls,  taking 
their  chairs  with  them  that  there  might  be  room 

52 


How  Steve  Packard  Came  Home 

for  whatever  went  forward,  gave  their  interest 
unstintedly.  So  completely  that  they  did  not 
hear  Steve  Packard  singing  far  out  in  the  night 
as  he  rode  slowly  toward  the  ranch-house: 

"An'  I'd  rather  hear  a  kiote  howl 

Than  be  the  King  of  Rome ! 
An'  when  day  comes — if  day  does  come — 

By  cripes,  I'm  goin'  home ! 
Back  home !     Hear  me  comin',  boys  ? 
Yeee!    I  said  it.     Comin'  home!" 

But  in  very  brief  time  Steve  Packard's  loitering 
pace  was  exchanged  for  red-hot  haste  as  the  sounds . 
winging  outward  from  the  bunk-house  met  him, 
stilled  his  singing,  and  informed  him  that  men 
were  battling  in  a  fury  which  must  have  some- 
thing of  sheer  blood-thirst  in  it.  He  raced  to  the 
closed  door,  swung  down  from  the  saddle,  and 
threw  the  door  open. 

He  saw  Bill  Royce  being  held  by  two  men, 
fighting  at  them  while  he  reviled  a  man  whom 
Steve  guessed  to  be  Blenham;  he  saw  Blenham 
and  a  curly-haired,  blue-eyed  boy  struggling  up 
and  down,  striking  the  savage  blows  of  rage.  He 
came  just  in  time  to  see  Blenham  drive  a  big, 
brutal  fist  into  the  boy's  face  and  to  mark  how 
Barbee  fell  heavily  and  for  a  little  lay  still. 

The  moment  was  charged  with  various  emo- 

53 


Man  to  Man 

tions,  as  though  with  contending  electrical  cur- 
rents. Bill  Royce,  championed  by  a  man  he  had 
never  so  much  as  seen,  had  given  fully  of  his 
gratitude  and — -they  meant  the  same  thing  to 
Bill  Royce — of  his  love;  after  to-night  he'd  go 
to  hell  for  "yellow"  Barbee. 

Barbee,  previsioning  defeat  at  Blenham's  hard 
hand,  suffering  in  his  youthful  pride,  had  given 
birth,  deep  within  him,  to  an  undying  hatred. 
And  Blenham,  for  his  own  reasons  and  after  his 
own  fashion,  was  bursting  with  rage. 

"Get  up,  Barbee,"  he  yelled.  "Get  up  an',  so 
help  me- 

"Fm  goin'  to  kill  you,  Blenham,"  said  Barbee 
faintly,  lifting  himself  a  little,  his  blue  eyes  swim- 
ming. "With  my  hands  or  with  a  knife  or  with 
a  gun  or  anyway;  now  or  to-morrow  or  some 
time  I'm  goin'  to  kill  you." 

"They  all  heard  you,"  Blenham  spat  out  furi- 
ously. "You're  a  fool,  Barbee.  Goin'  to  get 
up  ?  Ever  goin'  to  get  up  ? " 

"Turn  me  loose,  boys,"  muttered  Bill  Royce. 
"I've  waited  long  enough;  I've  stood  enough.  I 
been  like  an  ol'  woman.  Jus'  let  me  an*  Blenham 
finish  this." 

They  had,  none  of  them,  so  much  as  noted 
Steve  Packard's  entrance.  Now,  however,  he 
forced  them  to  take  stock  of  him. 

54 


How  Steve  Packard  Came  Home 

"Bill  Royce,"  he  said  sharply,  "keep  your  shirt 
on.  Barbee,  you  do  the  same.  Blenham,  you 
talk  with  me." 

"You?"  jeered  Blenham.  "You?  Who  are 
you?" 

"I'm  the  man  on  the  job  right  now,"  answered 
Packard  crisply.  "And  from  now  on,  I'm  run- 
ning the  Ranch  Number  Ten,  if  you  want  to 
know.  If  you  want  to  know  anything  else,  why 
then  you  don't  happen  to  be  foreman  any  longer. 
You're  fired !  As  for  foreman  under  me — my  old 
pardner,  Bill  Royce,  blind  or  not  blind,  has  his 
old  job  back." 

Bill  Royce  grew  rigid. 

"You  ain't — you  ain't  Stevie  come  back?" 
he  whispered.  "You  ain't  Stevie!" 

With  three  strides  Packard  reached  him,  find- 
ing Bill  Royce's  hand  with  his. 

"Right  you  are,  Bill  Royce,"  he  cried  warmly 
as  at  last  his  and  Royce's  hands  locked  hard. 

"I'm  fired,  you  say!"  Blenham  was  storming, 
his  eyes  wide.  "  Fired  ?  Who  says  so,  I  want  to 
know?" 

"I  say  so,"  returned  Packard  shortly. 

"You?"  shouted  Blenham.  "If  you  mean 
ol'  man  Packard  has  sent  you  to  take  my  place 
just  because—  It's  a  lie;  I  don't  believe  it." 

"This  outfit  doesn't  happen  to  belong  to  old 

55 


Man  to  Man 

man   Packard — yet,"  said  Steve  coolly.     "Does 
it,  Royce?" 

"Not  by  a  jugful!"  answered  the  blind  man 
joyously.     "An'  it  never  will  now,  Steve !     Not 


now." 


Blenham  looked  mystified.  Rubbing  his  skinned 
knuckles  he  glared  from  Steve  to  Royce,  then  to 
the  other  faces,  no  less  puzzled  than  his  own. 

"Nobody  can  fire  me  but  ol'  man  Packard," 
he  muttered  heavily,  though  his  tone  was  troubled. 
"Without  you  got  an  order  from  him,  all  signed 
an'  ready  for  me  to  read 

"What  I  have,"  cut  in  Steve  crisply,  "is  the 
bulge  on  the  situation,  Blenham.  Ranch  Number 
Ten  doesn't  belong  to  the  old  man;  it  is  the  prop- 
erty of  his  grandson,  whose  name  is  Steve  Pack- 
ard. Which  also  happens  to  be  my  name." 

Blenham  sneered. 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  he  snapped.  "Expect 
me  to  pull  my  freight  at  the  say-so  of  the  first 
stranger  that  blows  in  an'  invites  me  to  hand  him 
my  job  ?"  He  laughed  into  the  newcomer's  face. 

Packard  studied  him  a  moment  curiously, 
instinctively  aware  that  the  time  might  come  when 
it  would  be  well  to  have  taken  stock  correctly  of 
his  grandfather's  lieutenant.  Then,  before  re- 
plying, he  looked  at  the  faces  of  the  other  men. 
When  he  spoke  it  was  to  them. 

56 


How  Steve  Packard  Came  Home 

"Boys,"  he  said  quietly,  "this  outfit  belongs  to 
me.  I  am  Steve  Packard,  the  son  of  Philip  Pack- 
ard, who  owned  Number  Ten  Ranch  and  who 
mortgaged  it  but  did  not  sell  it  to  his  father — my 
grandfather.  I've  just  got  back  home;  I  mean 
to  have  what  is  mine;  I  am  going  to  pay  the  mort- 
gage somehow.  I  haven't  jumped  in  with  my 
sleeves  rolled  up  for  trouble  either;  had  Blen- 
ham  been  a  white  man  instead  of  a  brute  and  a 
bully  he  might  have  kept  his  job  under  me.  But 
I  guess  you  all  know  the  sort  of  life  he  has  been 
handing  Royce  here.  Bill  taught  me  how  to  ride 
and  shoot  and  fight  and  swim;  pretty  well  every- 
thing I  know  that's  worth  knowing.  Since  I 
was  a  kid  he's  been  the  best  friend  I  ever  had. 
Anything  else  you  boys  would  like  to  know?" 

Barbee  had  risen  slowly  from  the  floor. 

"Packard's  son  or  the  devil's,"  he  said 
quickly,  his  eyes  never  leaving  Blenham,  "I'm 
with  you." 

The  man  whom,  over  the  card-table,  Barbee 
had  addressed  as  Spotty  and  whose  nickname 
had  obviously  been  gained  for  him  by  the  pecu- 
liar tufts  of  white  hair  in  a  young,  tousled  head 
of  very  dark  brown,  cleared  his  throat  and  so 
drew  all  eyes  to  himself  at  his  side  of  the 
room. 

"Bill  Royce  bein'  blind,  if  you  could  only  prove 
57 


Man  to  Man 

somehow  who  you  are — "  he  suggested,  tone  and 
expression  plainly  indicating  his  willingness,  even 
eagerness,  to  be  convinced. 

"Even  if  I  can't  see  him,"  said  Royce,  his  own 
voice  eager,  "I  know!  An'  I  can  prove  it  for 
my  part  by  a  couple  of  little  questions — if  you 
boys  will  take  my  word  for  it  ?" 

"Shoot,"  said  Spotty.  "No  man's  called  you 
liar  yet,  Bill." 

"Then,  Stevie,"  said  Royce,  just  a  shade  of 
anxiety  in  his  look  as  his  sightless  eyes  roved  here 
and  there,  "answer  me  this:  What  was  the  first 
horse  you  ever  rode  ?" 

"A  mare,"  said  Steve.     "Black  Molly." 

"Right !"  and  Royce's  voice  rang  triumphantly. 
"Next:  Who  nailed  the  board  over  the  door? 
The  ol' cedar  board?" 

"I  did.     Just  before  I  went  away." 

"An',"  continued  Royce,  his  voice  lowered  a 
trifle,  "an'  what  did  you  say  about  it,  Stevie? 
I  was  to  know " 

"Coach  him  up !  Tell  him  what  to  say,  why 
don't  you?"  jeered  Blenham. 

"I  don't  think  I  need  to,"  replied  Royce  quietly. 
"Do  I,  Steve?" 

"I  was  pretty  much  of  a  kid  then,  Bill,"  said 
Packard,  a  half-smile  coming  into  his  eyes  for  the 
first  time,  a  smile  oddly  gentle.  "I  had  been 

58 


How  Steve  Packard  Came  Home 

reading  one  of  the  Arabian  Nights  tales;  that's 
what  put  it  into  my  head." 

"Go  ahead,  Steve;   go  ahead!" 

"I  said  that  I  was  going  to  seek  my  fortune  up 
and  down  the  world;  that  the  board  above  the 
door  would  be  a  sign  if  all  went  well  with  me. 
That  as  long  as  I  lived  it  would  be  there;  if  I 
died  it  would  fall." 

There  was  a  little,  breathless  silence.  It  was 
broken  by  Bill  Royce's  joyous  laughter  as  Bill 
Royce's  big  hand  smote  his  thigh. 

"Right  again,  Steve!  AnJ  the  oP  board's  still 
there.  Go  look  at  it;  it's  still  there." 

Again  all  eyes  sought  Blenham.  For  a  moment 
he  stood  uncertain,  looking  about  him.  Then 
abruptly  he  swept  up  his  hat  and  went  out.  And 
Barbee's  laughter,  like  an  evil  echo  of  Royce's, 
followed  him. 


59 


Man  to  Man 

"An'  Number  Ten  Ranch,"  added  Royce 
quickly. 

"And  Number  Ten  Ranch,"  Packard  agreed. 
"If  we  can  get  away  with  it." 

"Meaning  what  ?     How  get  away  with  it  ?" 

"It's  mortgaged  to  the  hilt,  it  seems.  I  don't 
know  for  how  much  yet.  The  mortgage  and  a 
lot  of  accrued  interest  has  to  be  paid  off.  Just 
how  big  a  job  we've  got  to  find  out." 

"Seen  your  grandfather  yet?" 

"No.  I  should  have  looked  him  up,  I  suppose, 
before  I  fired  Blenham.  But,  being  made  of 
flesh  and  blood 

"I  know,  I  know."  And  Royce  filled  his  lungs 
with  a  big  sigh.  "Bein'  a  Packard,  you  didn't 
wait  all  year  to  get  where  you  was  goin'.  But 
there'll  be  plenty  of  red  tape  that  can't  be  cut 
through;  that'll  have  to  be  all  untangled  an'  un- 
tied. Unless  your  grandfather'll  do  the  right 
thing  by  you  an'  call  all  ol'  bets  off  an'  give  you  a 
free  hand  an'  a  fresh  start  ? " 

"All  of  which  you   rather   doubt,    eh,    Bill?" 

Royce  nodded  gloomily. 

"I  guess  we've  gone  at  things  sort  of  back-end- 
to,"  he  said  regretfully.  "You'd  ought  to  have 
seen  him  first,  hadn't  you  ?  An'  then  you  kicked 
his  pet  dawg  in  the  slats  when  you  canned  Blen- 
ham. The  old  man's  right  apt  to  be  sore,  Steve." 

62 


Bank  Notes  and  a  Blind  Man 

"I  shouldn't  be  surprised,"  agreed  Steve. 
"Who  are  the  Temples,  Bill  ?" 

"Who  tol'  you  about  the  Temples  ?"  came  the 
quick  counter-question. 

"Nobody.     I  stayed  at  their  place  last  night." 

Royce  grunted. 

"Didn't  take  you  all  year  to  find  her,  did  it  ?" 
he  offered  bluntly. 

"Who?"  asked  Packard  in  futile  innocence. 

"Terry  Temple.  The  finest  girl  this  side  the 
pearly  gates  an'  the  pretties'.  What  kind  of  a 
man  have  you  growned  to  be  with  the  women, 
Steve?" 

"No  ladies'  man,  if  that's  what's  worrying  you, 
old  pardner.  I  don't  know  a  dozen  girls  in  the 
world.  I  just  asked  to  know  about  these  people 
because  they're  right  next-door  to  us  and  because 
they're  newcomers  since  my  time." 

Again  Royce  grunted,  choosing  his  own  ex- 
planation of  Packard's  interest.  But,  answermg 
the  question  put  to  him,  he  replied  briefly: 

"That  little  Terry-girl  can  have  anything  I 
got;  her  mother  was  some  class,  too,  they  tell 
me.  I  dope  it  up  she  just  died  of  shame  when 
she  come  to  know  what  sort  she'd  picked  for  a 
runnin'  mate.  An'  as  for  him,  he's  a  twisty- 
minded  jelly-fish.  He's  absolutely  no  good.  An', 
if  I  ain't  mistaken  some  considerable,  you'll  come 

63 


Man  to  Man 

to  know  him  real  well  before  long.  Watch  him, 
Steve." 

"Well,"  said  Packard  as  Royce  broke  off,  sens- 
ing that  this  was  not  all  to  be  said  of  Temple; 
"let's  have  it.  What  else  about  him  ?" 

But  Royce  shook  his  head  slowly,  while  his  big, 
thick  fingers  filled  his  pipe. 

"We  ain't  got  all  night  to  jus'  squat  here  an' 
gossip  about  our  neighbors,"  he  said  presently. 
"There's  other  things  to  be  said  before  things 
can  be  done.  First  rattle,  an'  to  get  goin',  I'm 
much  obliged  for  that  little  bluff  you  threw  Blen- 
ham's  way  about  me  being  your  foreman.  What 
you  need  an'  what  you  got  to  have  is  a  man 
with  both  eyes  wide  open.  Oh,  I  know,  Steve," 
as  Packard  started  to  speak.  "You'd  offer  me 
the  job  if  both  my  legs  an'  arms  was  gone,  too. 
But  it  don't  go." 

"I'm  going  to  need  a  man  right  away,"  argued 
Steve.  "I'll  have  to  do  a  lot  of  running  around, 
I  suppose,  looking  up  the  law,  arranging  for  be- 
lated payments,  and  so  forth.  I  don't  want  to 
leave  the  ranch  without  a  head.  You  know  the 
men,  you  know  the  outfit." 

But  Royce,  though  his  lips  twitched,  was  firm. 

"I  don't  know  the  men  any  too  well  either," 
he  said.  "They're  all  your  grandfather's  hirin'. 
But  they're  all  live  an'  they  all  know  the  game. 


Bank  Notes  and  a  Blind  Man 

I  won't  swear  as  to  how  far  you  can  trust  any 
one  of  'em;  but  you'll  have  to  find  that  out  for 
yourself  as  we  go  on." 

"Name  one  of  them  for  me,"  was  Packard's 
quiet  way  of  accepting  his  old  foreman's  ultima- 
tum. "I'll  put  him  on  at  least  temporarily." 

"There's  Yellow  Barbee,"  suggested  Royce. 
"Somethin'  of  a  kid,  maybe  kind  of  wild  an' 
harum-scarum,  maybe  not  worth  much.  But  he 
ain't  a  Blenham  man  an'  he  did  me  a  good  turn." 

Already  Packard  was  on  his  feet,  going  to  the 
door. 

"Barbee !"  he  shouted.     "Oh,  Barbee !" 

The  bunk-house  door  opened,  emitting  its 
stream  of  light. 

"Call  me?"  came  Barbee's  cool  young  voice, 
impudent  now  as  always. 

"Yes,  come  here  a  minute,  will  you?" 

Barbee  came,  his  wide  hat  far  back  upon  his 
tight  little  curls,  his  swagger  pronounced,  his  sweet 
blue  eyes  shining  softly — his  lips  battered  and 
bruised  and  already  swelling. 

"Come  in  and  shut  the  door,"  said  Packard. 

Barbee  entered  and  stepped  across  the  room  to 
lounge  with  his  elbow  on  the  chimney-piece,  look- 
ing curiously  from  Packard  to  Royce. 

"I'm  here  to  run  this  outfit  myself,  Barbee," 
Packard  told  him  while  returning  the  youth's 

65 


Man  to  Man 

to  know  him  real  well  before  long.  Watch  him, 
Steve." 

"Well,"  said  Packard  as  Royce  broke  off,  sens- 
ing that  this  was  not  all  to  be  said  of  Temple; 
"let's  have  it.  What  else  about  him  ?" 

But  Royce  shook  his  head  slowly,  while  his  big, 
thick  fingers  filled  his  pipe. 

"We  ain't  got  all  night  to  jus*  squat  here  an' 
gossip  about  our  neighbors,"  he  said  presently. 
"There's  other  things  to  be  said  before  things 
can  be  done.  First  rattle,  an'  to  get  goin',  I'm 
much  obliged  for  that  little  bluff  you  threw  Blen- 
ham's  way  about  me  being  your  foreman.  What 
you  need  an'  what  you  got  to  have  is  a  man 
with  both  eyes  wide  open.  Oh,  I  know,  Steve," 
as  Packard  started  to  speak.  "You'd  offer  me 
the  job  if  both  my  legs  an'  arms  was  gone,  too. 
But  it  don't  go." 

"I'm  going  to  need  a  man  right  away,"  argued 
Steve.  "I'll  have  to  do  a  lot  of  running  around, 
I  suppose,  looking  up  the  law,  arranging  for  be- 
lated payments,  and  so  forth.  I  don't  want  to 
leave  the  ranch  without  a  head.  You  know  the 
men,  you  know  the  outfit." 

But  Royce,  though  his  lips  twitched,  was  firm. 

"I  don't  know  the  men  any  too  well  either," 
he  said.  "They're  all  your  grandfather's  hirin'. 
But  they're  all  live  an'  they  all  know  the  game. 


Bank  Notes  and  a  Blind  Man 

I  won't  swear  as  to  how  far  you  can  trust  any 
one  of  'em;  but  you'll  have  to  find  that  out  for 
yourself  as  we  go  on." 

"Name  one  of  them  for  me,"  was  Packard's 
quiet  way  of  accepting  his  old  foreman's  ultima- 
tum. "I'll  put  him  on  at  least  temporarily." 

"There's  Yellow  Barbee,"  suggested  Royce. 
"Somethin'  of  a  kid,  maybe  kind  of  wild  an' 
harum-scarum,  maybe  not  worth  much.  But  he 
ain't  a  Blenham  man  an'  he  did  me  a  good  turn." 

Already  Packard  was  on  his  feet,  going  to  the 
door. 

"Barbee  !"  he  shouted.     "Oh,  Barbee !" 

The  bunk-house  door  opened,  emitting  its 
stream  of  light. 

"Call  me?"  came  Barbee's  cool  young  voice, 
impudent  now  as  always. 

"Yes,  come  here  a  minute,  will  you?" 

Barbee  came,  his  wide  hat  far  back  upon  his 
tight  little  curls,  his  swagger  pronounced,  his  sweet 
blue  eyes  shining  softly — his  lips  battered  and 
bruised  and  already  swelling. 

"Come  in  and  shut  the  door,"  said  Packard. 

Barbee  entered  and  stepped  across  the  room  to 
lounge  with  his  elbow  on  the  chimney-piece,  look- 
ing curiously  from  Packard  to  Royce. 

"I'm  here  to  run  this  outfit  myself,  Barbee," 
Packard  told  him  while  returning  the  youth's 

65 


Man  to  Man 

regard  steadily.  "But  I  need  a  foreman  to  keep 
things  going  when  I'm  obliged  to  be  away.  I  gave 
the  job  to  Royce.  He  won't  have  it.  He  sug- 
gests you." 

Barbee  opened  his  eyes  a  trifle  wider.  Also  the 
quick  flush  running  up  into  his  brown  cheeks  made 
him  look  more  boyish  than  ever,  giving  him  al- 
most a  cherubic  air.  But  for  all  that  he  managed 
to  appear  tolerably  unmoved,  quite  as  though  this 
were  not  the  first  time  he  had  been  offered  such  a 
position. 

"How  much  is  in  it?"  was  what  Barbee  said, 
with  vast  indifference. 

Steve  hesitated.  Then  he  frowned.  And  finally 
he  laughed. 

"You've  got  me  there,"  he  admitted  frankly. 
"All  the  money  I've  got  in  the  world  to-night  is 
right  here."  He  spilled  the  contents  of  his  pocket 
upon  a  table.  "There's  about  seventy-five  bucks. 
Unless  I  can  turn  a  trick  somewhere  before  pay- 
day all  you  boys  will  have  to  take  your  pro  rata 
out  of  that." 

Bill  Royce  shifted  nervously  in  his  chair,  opened 
his  mouthy  then  closed  it  wordlessly.  Barbee 
shrugged  elaborately. 

"I'll  take  a  chance,"  he  said.  "It  would  be 
worth  it  if  I  lost;  jus'  to  put  one  across  on  Blen- 
ham." 

66 


Bank  Notes  and  a  Blind  Man 

"All  right,"  and  still  Packard  eyed  young  Bar- 
bee  keenly,  wondering  just  how  much  ability 
lay  hidden  under  that  somewhat  unsatisfactory 
exterior.  "You  can  go  back  to  the  boys  now  and 
tell  them  that  you're  boss  when  I'm  not  on  hand. 
Before  they  go  to  work  in  the  morning  you  show 
up  here  again  and  we'll  talk  a  lot  of  things  over." 

Barbee  ducked  his  head  in  token  of  acquiescence 
and  perhaps  to  hide  the  glitter  in  his  eyes,  and 
walked  on  his  heels  to  the  door.  Packard's  voice 
arrested  him  there. 

"Just  one  thing,  Barbee:  I  don't  want  any 
trouble  started.  Not  with  Blenham  or  with  any 
of  old  man  Packard's  men.  I  know  how  you  feel, 
but  if  you  work  for  me  you'll  have  to  let  me  be 
the  one  who  starts  things.  Understand?" 

The  new  foreman  paused  irresolutely.  Then, 
without  turning  so  that  Packard  might  see  his 
face,  and  with  no  spoken  reply,  he  ducked  his 
head  again  and  went  out,  slamming  the  door  after 
him. 

"I  ain't  sure  he's  the  right  man  for  the  job, 
Steve,"  began  Royce  a  trifle  anxiously.  "An'  I 
ain't  sure  whether  he's  square  or  crooked.  But  I 
don't  know  the  rest  of  the  men  any  better  an' " 

"I'll  watch  him,  Bill.  And,  as  Pve  said  al- 
ready, I'm  here  to  do  most  of  the  foreman  act 
myself.  We'll  give  Barbee  his  chance." 


Man  to  Man 

He  came  back  to  the  table  from  whose  top 
there  winked  up  at  him  the  few  gold  and  silver 
coins  which  spelled  his  working  capital,  and  stood 
looking  at  them  quizzically. 

"I  got  a  yarn  to  spin,  Stevie,"  came  thought- 
fully from  Royce  with  a  great  puff  of  smoke. 
"You  better  listen  in  on  it  now — while  we're 
alone." 

Packard  returned  to  his  chair,  made  his  own 
smoke,  and  said  quietly: 

"Go  to  it,  Bill.     I'm  listening." 

"Barbee's  gone,  ain't  he  ?    An'  the  door  shut  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  pull  up  close  so's  I  won't  have  to  talk 
loud  an'  I'll  get  it  out  of  my  system:  Before  your 
father  died  he  wasn't  makin'  much  money,  not 
as  much  as  he  was  spendin'.  He'd  tied  into  some 
minin'-stock  game  that  he  didn't  savvy  any  too 
well,  an'  for  a  long  time  all  I'd  been  clearin'  here 
he'd  been  droppin'  outside. 

"An*  the  deeper  he  got  in  the  hole  the  wilder 
he  played  the  game:  there  was  times  when  I 
didn't  believe  he  cared  a  tinker's  damn  what  hap- 
pened. Whenever  he  needed  any  cash  all  he  had 
to  do  was  soak  another  plaster  on  the  ranch, 
borrow  again  from  his  father.  An'  ol'  Number 
Ten  is  plastered  thick  now,  Steve;  right  square 
up  to  the  hilt. 

"Well,  when  Phil  Packard  died  he  did  it  like 
68 


Bank  Notes  and  a  Blind  Man 

he'd  done  everything  else,  like  he  had  lived,  makin' 
a  man  think  he  was  in  a  hurry  to  get  a  job  over 
an'  done  with.  Ridin'  horseback  one  week  an'  the 
nex'  week  sendin'  for  me  in  there."  He  jerked 
his  head  toward  a  remote  room  of  the  big  house. 
"An'  he  talked  to  me  then  about  you." 

Packard  waited  for  him  to  go  on,  offering  no 
comment.  Royce,  hunched  over  in  his  chair, 
straightened  up  a  little,  shook  himself,  and  con- 
tinued: 

"He  had  drawed  some  money  out'n  the  bank, 
all  he  had  left.  I  dunno  what  for,  but  anyways 
he  had  it  under  his  pillow  alongside  his  oP  Colt. 
An'  he  give  it  to  me,  sayin'  he  was  caught  sudden 
an'  unexpected  by  his  death,  an'  for  me  to  take 
care  of  it  an'  see  that  you  got  it  when  you  come 
back.  It  was  in  greenbacks,  a  little  roll  no  big- 
ger'n  your  thumb,  an'  when  I  counted  'em  I 
near  dropped  dead.  Ten  little  slips  of  paper, 
Steve,  an'  each  good  for  one  thousan'  bucks ! 
Ten  thousan'  dollars  did  Phil  Packard  slip  me 
that  night  not  a  half-hour  before  he  went  over. 
For  you.  An*  I  got  'em  for  you,  Steve;  I  got 
'em  safe  for  you." 

His  big  shoulders  rose  and  fell  in  a  deep  sigh; 
he  ran  a  toil-hardened  hand  across  his  forehead. 
Packard  opened  his  lips  as  though  to  speak,  but 
was  silent  as  Royce  continued: 

"1  took  the  money,  Steve,  an'  went  outside  for 


Man  to  Man 

a  smoke,  an*  my  hands  was  shakin'  like  I  was  cold  ! 
Ten  thousan'  bucks  in  my  tail  pocket !  It  was  a 
dark  night  an*  I  didn't  lose  nineteen  secon's 
hidin'  the  wad  in  a  good  safe  place.  Which/' 
slowly,  "was  the  las'  time  I  ever  saw  it !" 

"I  thought  you  said " 

"I  got  it  safe  ?  I  have.  But  I  ain't  ever  seen 
anything  since  that  night,  Steve.  The  night  your 
dad  died,  the  night  I  hid  the  money,  was  the  night 
I  went  blind." 

"You  haven't  told  me  about  that  yet,  Bill," 
said  Packard  gently. 

"No;  but  I'm  goin'  to  now.  It's  part  of  the 
yarn  I  got  to  spin  to-night.  Like  I  said  I  took  the 
wad — your  father  had  slipped  it  back  in  a  flat  sort 
of  pocketbook — an'  went  outside.  It  was  night 
already  an'  dark.  Ten  thousan'  bucks  for  me  to 
keep  safe  for  you  !" 

Again  he  ran  his  hand  across  his  forehead. 

"I  knew  where  there  was  a  rock  in  the  corner 
foundation  of  the  house  that  I  could  work  loose; 
where  if  I  put  the  greenbacks  they  wouldn't  spoil 
if  it  rained  or  even  if  the  house  burned  down.  I 
stuck  'em  in  there,  got  the  rock  back  like  it  was 
before,  made  sure  nobody  saw  me,  an'  went  off 
by  myself  for  a  smoke. 

"'Cause  why  did  I  take  that  chance  ?  I  didn't 
take  no  chances  at  all,  I  tell  you,  Steve  !  How  did 

70 


Bank  Notes  and  a  Blind  Man 

I  know,  your  father  gettin'  delirious  at  the  finish 
which  came  downright  quick,  but  he'd  give  the 
game  away  ?  An'  on  the  ranch  then  there  was 
men  that  would  do  mos'  anything  for  ten  thousan', 
give  'em  the  show. 

"Your  grandfather  had  come  over  an'  he  had 
brought  Blenham  with  him  an'  his  mechanic,  Guy 
Little;  an'  there  was  a  couple  of  new  men  in  the 
outfit  I'd  picked  up  myself  that  I  knew  was  tough 
gents. 

"No!  I  didn't  take  no  chances,  seein'  the 
money  was  yours  an'  not  mine  to  fool  with.  I 
stuck  it  in  the  wall  an'  I  sneaked  off  an'  for  three 
hours  I  squatted  there  in  the  dark  with  my  gun 
in  my  hand,  waitin'  an'  watchin'.  Which  was 
playing  as  safe  as  a  man  could,  wasn't  it,  Steve  ?" 

Packard  got  up  and  came  to  Royce's  side, 
putting  his  hand  gently  on  the  foreman's  shoulder. 

"It  strikes  me  you've  done  rather  a  good  deal 
for  me,  Bill,"  he  said  quite  simply. 

"Maybe,"  said  Royce  thoughtfully.  "But  no 
more'n  one  pardner  ought  to  do  for  another;  no 
more'n  you'd  do  for  me,  Stevie.  Don't  I  know 
you  ?  Give  you  the  chance  you'd  do  as  much  for 
me;  eh,  boy?  Well,  here's  the  rest  of  the  story: 
Your  dad  was  dead:  ol'  Hell-Fire  was  blowin'  his 
nose  so  you'd  hear  it  a  mile  an'  I  was  feelin'  weak 
an'  sick-like,  knowin'  all  of  a  sudden  that  Phil 


Man  to  Man 

Packard  had  been  damn'  good  to  me  an'  wantin* 
to  tell  him  so  now  it  was  too  late.  Late  an'  dark 
as  it  was  I  went  down  to  the  bunk-house,  tol'  the 
boys  to  stick  aroun'  for  orders  in  the  mornin', 
saddled  my  horse  and  beat  it  for  a  quiet  place 
where  I  could  think.  I  never  wanted  to  think  so 
much  in  my  life,  Steve.  Remember  the  ol'  cabin 
by  the  big  timber  over  on  the  east  side  ?" 
"The  old  McKittrick  place  ?  Yes." 
"Well,  I  went  there  to  make  a  fire  in  the  ol' 
fireplace  an'  sit  an'  think  things  over.  But  I  got 
to  tell  you  about  a  feller  name  of  Johnny  Mills. 
You  didn't  know  him;  he's  workin'  for  the  Brocky 
Lane  outfit  now.  Well,  Johnny  was  as  good  a 
cow-man  as  you  want,  but  you  always  had  to 
watch  him  that  he  didn't  slip  ofF  to  go  quail- 
huntin'.  With  a  shot-gun  he  was  the  best  wing- 
shot  I  ever  heard  a  man  tell  about. 

"He  used  to  sneak  for  the  McKittrick  cabin 
where  he  kep'  an  ol'  muzzle-loadin'  shot-gun,  an' 
shot  quail  aroun'  them  springs  up  there  when  he'd 
ought  to  be  workin'.  Then  he'd  come  in  an'  brag, 
tellin'  how  he'd  never  missed  a  shot.  The  boys, 
jus'  to  tease  Johnny,  had  gone  to  the  cabin  that 
very  day  an'  drawed  his  shot  out,  jus'  leavin' 
the  powder  alone  so  Johnny  would  think  he'd 
missed  when  he  pulled  the  trigger  an'  no  birdies 
dropped. 

72 


Bank  Notes  and  a  Blind  Man 

"See  what  I'm  drivin'  at  ?  I  tied  my  horse  an' 
started  along  the  little  trail  through  the  wild- 
holly  bushes  to  the  cabin.  Somebody  was  waitin' 
for  me  an*  give  me  both  barrels  square  in  the 
face.  That's  when  an*  how  my  lights  went  out, 
Steve." 

It  came  as  a  shock,  and  Packard  paled;  Royce 
had  been  so  long  making  his  explanations  and 
then  put  the  actual  catastrophe  so  baldly  that  for 
a  moment  his  hearer  sat  speechless.  Presently — 

"Know  who  did  it,  Bill  ?"  he  asked. 

"If  I  knew — for  sure — I'd  go  get  him!  But 
I  don't  know;  not  for  sure."  His  big  hands 
clenched  until  they  fairly  trembled  with  their  own 
tenseness.  "It's  tough  to  go  blind,  Steve!" 

His  hands  relaxed;  he  sat  still,  staring  into  that 
black  nothingness  which  always  engulfed  him. 
When  he  spoke  again  it  was  drearily,  hopelessly, 
like  a  man  communing  with  his  own  sorrow, 
oblivious  of  a  listener: 

"Yes,  it's  fair  hell  to  be  blind.  If  there's  any- 
thing worse  I'd  like  to  know  what  it  might  be. 
To  be  walkin'  along  in  the  dark,  always  in  the 
dark — to  stumble  an'  fall  an'  hear  a  man  laugh — 
to  pitch  head  firs'  over  a  box  that  had  been  slipped 
quiet  in  your  way " 

"Blenham  did  that  sort  of  thing?"  demanded 
Packard  sharply. 

73 


Man  to  Man 

It  would  have  done  Bill  Royce  good  to  see  the 
look  in  his  eyes  then.  Royce  nodded. 

"Blenham  did  whatever  he  could  think  of," 
he  muttered  colorlessly.  "An*  he  could  think 
of  a  good  many  things.  Just  the  same — maybe 
some  day " 

"And  yet  you  stayed  on,  Bill?"  when  Royce's 
voice  stopped. 

"I'd  promised  your  dad  I'd  be  here — with  the 
coin — when  you  come  back.  He  knew  an'  I 
knew  you  might  blow  in  an'  blow  out  an'  never 
get  word  unless  I  was  right  here  all  the  time.  An' 
ol'  man  Packard,  after  I  was  blind  I  went  to  him 
an*  he  promised  I  could  stick  as  long  as  I  just 
obeyed  orders.  Which  I've  done,  no  matter  what 
they  was. 

"But  the  end's  come  now;  ain't  it,  Steve,  ol' 
pardner  ?  But  to  get  this  tale  tol'  an*  the  money 
in  your  hands:  I  didn't  know  who'd  tried  to  do 
for  me,  but  I  guessed  it  must  have  been  some  one 
who'd  found  out  somehow  about  the  ten  thousan' 
an'  thought  I  had  it  on  me.  When  I  come  to  at 
the  cabin  an'  firs'  thing  tried  to  get  a  chaw  of 
tobacco  I  foun'  my  pockets  all  turned  wrong  side 
out.  It  might  have  been  Johnny  Mills  himself; 
he  didn't  know  about  the  gun  bein'  forced  with; 
it  might  have  been  Blenham;  it  might  have  been 
Guy  Little;  it  might  have  been  somebody  else. 

74 


Bank  Notes  and  a  Blind  Man 

But  IVe  thought  all  along  an*  I  pray  God  I  was 
right  an*  that  some  day  I'll  know,  that  it  was 
Blenham." 

He  rose  suddenly. 

"Come  ahead,  Steve,"  he  said,  his  voice  matter 
of  fact  as  of  old.  "It's  up  to  you  to  ride  herd  on 
your  own  simoleons  now." 

"You've  left  it  in  the  same  place  ?  In  the  rock 
foundation-wall  ?" 

"Yes.     I  couldn't  find  a  safer  place." 

"And  you  haven't  been  back  to  it  all  these 
months?" 

"Not  until  las'  Saturday  night.  It  was  jus' 
six  months  then.  I  figgered  it  out  I'd  make  sure 
once  every  six  months.  I  went  in  the  middle  of 
the  night  an'  made  sure  nobody  followed  me, 
Steve.  Come  ahead." 

Packard  slipped  his  arm  through  Royce's  and 
they  went  side  by  side.  The  night  was  filled  with 
stars;  there  was  no  moon.  The  wall,  as  they 
came  around  the  corner  of  the  house,  shone  palely 
here  and  there  where  a  white  surface  glinted 
vaguely  through  the  shadows. 

"Nobody  aroun',  is  there,  Steve?"  whispered 
Royce. 

"Nobody,"  Packard  assured  him.  "Where 
is  it,  Bill?" 

Royce's  hands,  groping  with  the  wall,  rested 
75 


Man  to  Man 

at  last  upon  a  knob  of  stone  near  the  base  of 
the  foundation.  He  tugged;  the  stone,  rudely 
squared,  came  away,  leaving  a  gaping  hole. 
Royce  thrust  his  hand  in,  searched  briefly,  and 
in  a  moment  brought  out  a  flat  wallet  clutched 
tightly. 

"Yours,  Steve !"  he  said  then,  a  quick,  palpitat- 
ing note  of  pure  joy  in  his  cry.  "Blind  as  I  was, 
I  put  it  over  for  you !  Here's  ten  thousan', 
Steve.  An'  the  chance  to  get  ol'  Number  Ten 
back." 

Packard  was  taking  the  wallet  proffered  him. 
Suddenly  Royce  jerked  it  back. 

"Let  me  make  sure  again,"  he  said  hastily. 
"Let  me  be  dead  sure  I've  made  good." 

He  fumbled  with  the  wallet,  opened  the  flap, 
drew  out  the  contents,  a  neat  pack  of  folded  bank- 
notes. He  counted  slowly. 

"Ten  of  'em,"  he  announced  triumphantly  as 
he  gave  the  wallet  over  to  its  proper  owner. 

Packard  took  them  and  they  went  back  to  the 
house.  The  rays  of  the  lamp  met  them;  through 
the  open  door,  back  to  the  living-room,  they 
walked  side  by  side.  The  table  between  them, 
they  sat  down.  Packard  put  the  wallet  down, 
spread  out  the  ten  bank-notes. 

"Bill,"  he  said,  and  there  was  a  queer  note  in 
his  voice,  "Bill,  you've  gone  through  hell  for 


Bank  Notes  and  a  Blind  Man 

me.  Don't  I  know  it  ?  And  you  say  I'd  do  as 
much  for  you  ?  Are  you  sure  of  it,  Bill  ?" 

Royce  laughed  and  rubbed  his  hands  together. 

"Dead  sure,  Stevie,"  he  said. 

Packard's  eyes  dropped  to  the  table.  Before 
him  were  the  ten  crisp  bank-notes.  Each  was 
for  one  dollar.  Ten  dollars  in  all.  His  heritage, 
saved  to  him  by  Bill  Royce. 

"Bill,  old  man,"  he  said  slowly,  "you've  taught 
me  how  to  play  the  game.  Pray  God  I  can  be 
as  white  with  a  pardner  as  you  have  been." 

And,  crumpling  the  notes  with  a  sudden  gesture, 
he  thrust  them  into  his  pocket. 


77 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE   OLD  MOUNTAIN   LION   COMES   DOWN   FROM 
THE    NORTH 

IT  was  perhaps  eight  o'clock,  the  morning  blue, 
cloudless,  and  still.  Packard  had  conferred 
briefly  with  Barbee;  the  Ranch  Number  Ten  men 
had  gone  about  their  work.  Steve  and  Bill  Royce, 
riding  side  by  side,  had  mounted  one  of  the  flat, 
treeless  hills  in  the  upper  valley  and  were  now 
sitting  silent  while  Royce  fumbled  with  his  pipe 
and  Steve  sent  a  long,  eager  look  down  across  the 
open  meadow-lands  dotted  with  grazing  cattle. 

Suddenly  their  two  horses  and  the  other  horses 
browsing  in  a  lower  field,  jerked  up  their  heads, 
all  ears  pricked  forward.  And  yet  Steve  had 
heard  no  sound  to  mar  the  perfect  serenity  of 
the  young  day.  He  turned  his  head  a  little, 
listening. 

Then,  from  some  remote  distance  there  floated 
to  him  a  sound  strangely  incongruous  here  in  the 
early  stillness,  a  subdued  screech  or  scream,  a 
wild,  clamorous,  shrieking  noise  which  for  the 
life  of  him  he  could  not  catalogue. 

It  was  faint  because  it  came  across  so  great  a 
distance  and  yet  it  was  clear;  it  was  not  the  throb- 

78 


The  Old  Mountain  Lion 

bing  cry  of  a  mountain  lion,  not  the  scream  of  a 
horse  stricken  with  its  death,  nothing  that  he 
had  ever  heard,  and  yet  it  suggested  both  of  these 
sounds. 

"Bill!"  he  began. 

"I  heard  it,"  Royce  muttered.  "An'  I've 
heard  it  before !  In  a  minute ' 

Royce  broke  off.  The  sound,  stilled  a  second, 
came  again,  seeming  already  much  closer  and 
more  hideous.  Steve's  horse  snorted  and  plunged; 
some  of  the  colts  in  the  pasture  flung  up  their  heels 
and  fled  with  streaming  manes  and  tails.  Royce 
calmly  filled  and  lighted  his  pipe. 

Stillness  again  for  perhaps  ten  or  twenty  sec- 
onds. Steve,  about  to  demand  an  explanation 
from  his  companion,  stared  as  once  more  came 
the  shrieking  noise. 

"You  can  hear  the  blame  thing  ten  miles," 
grunted  Royce.  "It's  only  about  half  that  far 
away  now.  Keep  your  eye  glued  on  the  road 
across  the  valley  where  it  comes  out'n  Blue 
Bird  Canon." 

And  then  Steve  understood.  Into  the  clear  air 
across  the  valley  rose  a  growing  cloud  of  dust; 
through  it,  out  of  the  canon's  shadows  and  into 
the  sunlight,  shot  a  glistening  automobile,  hardly 
more  than  a  bright  streak  as  it  sped  along  the 
curving  down-grade. 

79 


Man  to  Man 

"Terry  Temple?"  gasped  young  Packard. 
Royce  merely  grunted  again. 

"Jus'  you  watch,"  was  all  he  said. 

And,  needing  no  invitation,  Packard  watched. 
The  motor-car's  siren — he  had  never  heard  an- 
other like  it,  knew  that  such  a  thing  would  not 
be  tolerated  in  any  of  the  world's  traffic  centres 
— sounded  again  a  long,  wailing  note  which  went 
across  the  valley  in  billowing  echoes. 

Then  it  grew  silent  as,  with  the  last  of  the  dan- 
gerous curves  behind  it,  the  long-bodied  roadster 
swung  into  the  valley.  Packard,  an  experienced 
driver  himself,  with  his  own  share  of  reckless 
blood,  opened  his  mouth  and  stared. 

It  was  hard  to  believe  that  the  big,  spinning 
wheels  were  on  the  ground  at  all;  the  machine 
seemed  more  like  an  aeroplane  content  with  skim- 
ming the  earth  but  hungry  for  speed.  Only  the 
way  in  which  it  plunged  and  lurched  and  swerved 
and  plunged  again  testified  to  highly  inflated 
tires  battling  with  ruts  and  chuck-holes. 

"The  fool!"  he  cried  as  the  car  negotiated  a 
turn  on  two  wheels  with  never  a  sign  of  lessened 
speed.  "He'll  turn  turtle.  He's  doing  sixty 
miles  an  hour  right  now.  And  on  these 
roads " 

"More  likely  doin'  seventy-five,"  grunted 
Royce.  "Can  do  ten  better'n  that.  Out  on 

80 


The  Old  Mountain  Lion 

the  highway  he's  done  a  clean  hundred.  That 
car,  my  boy " 

"He's  going  into  the  ditch!"  exclaimed  Steve 
excitedly. 

The  car,  racing  on,  was  already  near  enough 
for  Steve  to  make  out  its  two  passengers,  a  man 
bent  over  the  steering-wheel,  another  man,  or 
boy,  for  the  figure  was  small,  clinging  wildly  to 
his  place  on  the  running-board,  seeming  always 
in  imminent  danger  of  being  thrown  off. 

"He's  drunk !"  snapped  Packard  angrily.  "Of 
all  blind  idiots!" 

Another  strident  blast  from  the  horn,  that 
sent  staid  old  cows  scurrying  this  way  and  that 
to  get  out  of  the  way,  and  the  car  swerved  from 
the  road  and  took  to  the  open  field,  headed  straight 
toward  the  hill  where  the  two  horsemen  were. 
Jerking  his  horse  about,  Steve  rode  down  to  meet 
the  new  arrivals.  And  then 

"My  God!  It's  my  grandfather!  He's  gone 
mad,  Bill  Royce!" 

"No  madder'n  usual,"  said  Royce. 

The  car  came  to  a  sudden  stop.  The  man 
on  the  running-board — he  had  a  man's  face, 
keen  and  sharp-eyed  and  eager,  and  the  body  of 
a  slight  boy — jumped  down  from  his  place  and 
in  a  flash  disappeared  under  the  engine.  The 
man  at  the  wheel  straightened  up  and  got  down, 

81 


Man  to  Man 

stretching  his  legs.  Steve,  swinging  down  from 
his  saddle,  and  coming  forward,  measured  him 
with  wondering  eyes. 

And  he  was  a  man  for  men  to  look  at,  was  old 
man  Packard.  Full  of  years,  he  was  no  less  full 
of  vigor,  hale  and  stalwart  and  breathing  power. 
A  great  white  beard,  cut  square,  fell  across  his 
full  chest;  his  white  mustache  was  curled  upward 
now  as  fiercely  as  fifty  years  ago  when  he  had 
been  a  man  for  women  to  look  at,  too. 

He  was  dressed  as  Steve  had  always  seen  him, 
in  black  corduroy  breeches,  high  black  boots, 
broad  black  hat — a  man  standing  upward  of 
six  feet,  carrying  himself  as  straight  as  a  ramrod, 
his  chest  as  powerful  as  a  blacksmith's  bellows, 
the  calf  of  his  leg  as  thick  as  many  a  man's  thigh; 
big,  hard  hands,  the  fingers  twisted  by  toil;  the 
face  weatherbeaten  like  an  old  sea  captain's,  with 
eyes  like  the  frozen  blue  of  a  clear  winter  sky. 

His  voice  when  he  spoke  boomed  out  suddenly, 
deep  and  rich  and  hearty. 

"Stephen  ?"  he  demanded. 

Steve  said  "Yes"  and  put  out  his  hand,  his 
eyes  shining,  the  surprising  realization  upon  him 
that  he  was  tremendously  glad  to  see  his  father's 
father  once  more.  The  old  man  took  the  prof- 
fered hand  into  a  hard-locked  grip  and  for  a  mo- 
ment held  it,  while,  the  other  hand  on  his  grand- 

82 


The  Old  Mountain  Lion 

son's  shoulder,  he  looked  steadily  into  Stare's 
eyes. 

"What  sort  of  a  man  have  they  made  of  you, 
boy?"  he  asked  bluntly.  "There's  the  makings 
of  fool,  crook  an*  white  man  in  all  of  us.  What 
for  a  man  are  you  ?" 

Steve  flushed  a  little  under  the  direct,  piercing 
look,  but  said  steadily — 

"Not  a  crook,  I  hope/' 

"That's  something,  if  it  ain't  everything," 
snorted  the  old  man  as,  withdrawing  his  hand,  he 
found  and  lighted  a  long  stogie.  "Blenham  tells 
me  you  fired  him  las'  night?" 

Young  Packard  nodded,  watching  his  grand- 
father's face  for  the  first  sign  of  opposition.  But 
just  now  the  old  man's  face  told  nothing. 

"Thinking  of  runnin'  the  outfit  yourself,  Ste- 
phen ?"  came  the  next  question  quietly. 

"Yes.  I  had  intended  looking  in  on  you  in  a 
day  or  so  to  talk  matters  over.  I  understand  that 
my  father  left  everything  to  me  and  that  it  is 
pretty  heavily  mortgaged  to  you." 

"Uhuh.  I  let  Phil  have  a  right  smart  bit  of 
money  on  Number  Ten  firs'  an*  las',  my  boy. 
Don't  want  to  pay  it  off  this  mornin',  do  you  ?" 

Steve  laughed. 

"I'm  broke,  Grandy,"  he  said  lightly,  uncon- 
sciously adopting  the  old  title  for  the  man  who 

83 


Man  to  Man 

had  made  him  love  him  and  hate  him  a  score  of 
times.  "My  working  capital,  estimated  last 
night,  runs  about  seventy-five  dollars.  That 
wouldn't  quite  turn  the  trick,  would  it  ? " 

The  old  man's  eyes  narrowed. 

"You  mean  that  seventy-five  dollars  is  all 
you've  got  to  show  for  twelve  years?"  he  asked 
sharply. 

Again,  hardly  understanding  why,  Steve  flushed. 
Was  a  man  to  be  ashamed  that  he  had  not  amassed 
wealth,  especially  when  there  had  never  been  in 
him  the  sustained  desire  for  gold  ?  He  owed 
no  man  a  cent,  he  made  his  own  way,  he  asked  no 
favors — and  yet  there  was  a  glint  of  defiance  in 
his  eye,  a  hint  of  defiance  in  his  tone,  when  he 
replied  briefly. 

"That's  all.  I  haven't  measured  life  in  dollars 
and  cents." 

"Then  you've  missed  a  damn'  good  measure  for 
it,  my  son !  I  ain't  sayin'  it's  the  only  one,  but 
it'll  do  firs'  class.  But  you  needn't  get  scared 
I've  gone  into  the  preaching  business.  .  .  .  An' 
with  that  seventy-five  dollars  you're  startin'  out 
to  run  a  big  cow  outfit  like  this,  are  you  ? " 

There  was  a  gleam  of  mockery  in  the  clear 
blue  eyes  which  Steve  gave  no  sign  of  seeing. 

"I've  got  a  big  job  on  my  hands  and  I  know  it," 
he  said  quietly.  "  But  I'm  going  to  see  it  through." 


The  Old  Mountain  Lion 

"There's  no  question  about  the  size  of  the  job  ! 
It's  life-size,  man's  size — Number  Ten  size,  if  you 
want  to  put  it  that  way.  It  wants  a  real  man  to 
shove  it  across.  Know  just  how  much  you're 
mortgaged  for?" 

"No.     I  was  going  to  ask  you." 

"Close  to  fifty  thousan'  dollars,  countin'  back 
interest,  unpaid.  More'n  you  ever  saw  in  a  day, 
I  reckon." 

Steve  shrugged.  This  to  hide  his  first  inclina- 
tion to  whistle.  Fifty  thousand — why,  he  didn't 
know  Number  Ten  ranch  was  worth  that  much 
money.  But  it  must  be  worth  a  good  deal  more 
if  his  grandfather  had  advanced  so  much  on  it. 

"It  is  a  nice  little  pile,"  he  admitted  carelessly. 

The  old  man  grunted,  thrust  his  hands  into  his 
pockets,  and  drew  deeply  at  his  stogie.  Steve 
rolled  a  cigarette.  In  the  silence  falling  upon 
them  they  could  hear  the  sound  of  the  mechani- 
cian's wrench. 

"Anything  wrong  with  the  car?"  asked  Steve 
for  the  sake  of  breaking  unpleasant  silence. 

"Not  that  I  know  of.  He's  jus'  takin'  a  peek 
to  make  sure,  I  guess.  That's  what  he's  for. 
He  knows  I  got  to  get  back  to  my  place  in  a 
couple  of  shakes." 

Steve  smiled;  by  wagon  road  his  grandfather's 
ranch  home  was  fifty  miles  to  the  northward. 

8s 


Man  to  Man 

"You  won't  think  of  going  back  before  noon." 
"Won't  I?  But  I  will,  though,  son;  Blen- 
ham's  sticking  aroun',  waitin'  for  my  say-so  what 
he'll  do  nex*."  He  snapped  open  a  big  watch 
and  stared  at  it  a  moment  with  pursed  lips.  "I'll 
be  back  horn  in  jus'  one  hour  an'  a  half.  All  I 
got  is  fifteen  minutes  to  talk  with  you  this 


morninV 


"You  mean  that  you  can  drive  those  fifty  miles 
in  an  hour  and  a  quarter !" 

"Have  done  it  in  less;  if  I  was  in  a  hurry  I'd 
do  it  in  an  hour  flat.  But  allowin'  for  time  out 
I  want  fifteen  minutes  more'n  that.  And  now, 
if  we're  goin'  to  get  anywhere " 

He  stopped  suddenly  and  stood  toying  with 
his  big  watch  passing  it  back  and  forth  through 
the  loop  he  made  of  its  heavy  chain,  his  gaze 
steady  and  earnest  and  searching  upon  his  grand- 
son. 

"Stephen,"  he  said  abruptly,  "I  ain't  playin' 
any  favorites  in  my  ol'  age.  An'  I  ain't  givin' 
away  big  chunks  of  money  hit  or  miss.  You 
wasn't  countin*  on  anything  like  that,  was  you?" 

"No,  I  wasn't,"  announced  Steve  quickly.  "I 
remember  your  old  theory;  that  a  man  should 
make  his  own  way  unaided,  that " 

"That  whatever  he  got  he's  got  to  get  with  his 
one  head  an'  one  set  of  han's.  Now,  the  things 

86 


The  Old  Mountain  Lion 

I  got  to  say  Pll  spit  out  one  at  the  time:  Firs', 
I'd  like  to  have  you  come  visit  me  for  a  spell  at 
my  place.  Will  you  do  it  ?  To-day,  to-morrow, 
any  time  you  feel  like  it." 

"Yes;  I'll  be  glad  to." 

"That's  good.  Nex',  not  even  if  you  was  the 
right  man  for  the  job  you  can't  save  this  ranch 
now;  it's  too  late,  there's  to  much  to  dig  up  in 
too  short  a  time.  I've  got  my  hooks  in  deep  an' 
whenever  that  happens  I  don't  let  go.  I  want 
you  to  quit  before  you  get  started." 

Steve  looked  his  surprise. 

"Surely,"  he  said  wonderingly,  "you  don't 
want  me  to  give  you  the  ranch  just  because  you 
happen  to  hold  the  mortgages  on  it  ?" 

"Business  is  business,  Stephen,"  said  the  old 
man  sternly.  "Sometimes,  between  Packards, 
business  is  hell.  It'd  be  that  for  you.  Pve 
started  out  to  get  this  outfit  an'  I'd  get  it.  An' 
doin'  it  I'd  be  wastin'  my  time  besides  breakin' 
you  all  to  smithereens.  Better  drop  it." 

Steve  had  hardly  expected  this.  But  he  an- 
swered calmly,  even  lightly. 

"I  think  I'd  like  a  try  at  holding  it." 

"That's  two  things,"  old  man  Packard  said 
crisply.  "Number  three  is  this  here:  Blenham 
tells  me  you've  put  Royce  in  as  foreman  under 
you?" 

87 


Man  to  Man 

"I  offered  him  the  place.  He  could  have  it  yet 
if  he  wanted  it.  But  he  refused.  I've  passed 
the  job  on  to  a  man  named  Barbee." 

"  Barbee  ! "  cried  the  old  man.  "  Barbee  !  That 
yellow  canary-bird  ?  Meaning  him  ?" 

"Yes,"  retorted  Steve  a  trifle  stiffly.  "Any- 
thing wrong  with  him  ?" 

"I  didn't  roll  them  fifty  miles  to  talk  about 
jay-birds  an'  canary-birds  an'  such,"  growled  his 
grandfather.  "But  here's  one  thing  I've  got  to 
say:  This  ranch  is  goin'  to  be  mine  real  soon; 
that's  in  the  cards,  face  up.  It's  as  good  as  mine 
now.  I've  been  runnin'  it  myself  for  six  months. 
I  want  it  right,  hear  me  ?  What  do  you  know 
about  running  a  big  outfit  ?  What  does  a  kid 
without  whiskers  like  Barbee  know  about  it  ? 
Think  I  want  it  all  run  down  in  the  heel  when  it 
comes  to  me  ?  No,  sir !  I  don't.  Blenham 
knows  the  lay  of  the  land,  Blenham  knows  my 
ways,  Blenham  knows  how  to  run  things.  I  want 
you  to  put  Blenham  back  on  the  job !" 

Steve  bit  his  lip,  holding  back  a  hot  reply. 

"Grandfather,"  he  said  slowly,  "suppose  we 
take  a  little  more  time  in  getting  squared  around  ? 
I  want  to  do  what's  right;  I  know  that  you  want 
to  do  what's  fair  and  square.  I  am  willing  to 
consult  you  about  ranch  matters;  I'll  come  to  you 
for  advice,  if  you'll  let  me;  I'll  try  to  keep  the 

88 


The  Old  Mountain  Lion 

ranch  up  to  time  and"  —with  a  smile — "in  my 
hands  and  out  of  yours.  That's  a  good  sporting 
proposition.  But  as  for  Blenham — 

"Put  him  back  as  foreman  and  I'll  talk  fair 
with  you.  I  want  Blenham  back  here,  Stephen. 
Understand  that  ?" 

"And,"  cried  Steve  a  trifle  heatedly  at  last, 
"I  tell  you  that  I  am  going  to  run  the  ranch 
myself.  And  that  I  don't  like  Blenham." 

"Damn  it,"  cried  the  old  man  violently,  "hear 
the  boy !  Don't  like  Blenham,  huh  ?  Coin*  to 
run  the  ranch  yourself,  huh  ?  Why,  I  tell  you 
it's  as  good  as  mine  right  now!  How  are  you 
goin'  to  pay  your  men,  how  are  you  goin'  to  buy 
grub  for  'em,  where  are  you  goin'  to  find  runnin'- 
expense  money  ?  Go  an'  tell  folks  you're  mort- 
gaged to  me  for  fifty  thousan'  dollars  an'  see  how 
much  they'll  stake  you  for  on  top  of  that.  Or 
come  over  my  way  an'  try  to  borrow  some  more, 
if  you  think  Fm  an  easy  guy.  Why,  Steve  Pack- 
ard, you — you're  a  tomfool !" 

"Thanks,"  said  Steve  dryly.  "I've  heard  that 
before." 

"An'  you'll  hear  it  again,  by  the  Lord !  In 
ten  languages  if  you'll  find  men  talkin'  that  many 
lingos.  Here  I  come  chasin'  all  this  way  to  be 
decent  to  you,  to  see  if  there  ain't  some  way  to 
help  you  out " 


Man  to  Man 

"Help  me  out  of  my  property,"  amended  Steve. 
"I  can't  remember  anything  else  you  offered  to 
do  for  me ! " 

"I  said  it  once,"  shouted  his  grandfather,  his 
two  big  fists  suddenly  clinched  and  lifted  threat- 
eningly; "you're  a  howlin'  young  ass!  That's 
what  for  a  man  you've  turned  out  to  be,  Stephen 
Packard.  Come  here  empty-handed  an*  try  to 
buck  me,  would  you  ?  Me  who  has  busted 
better  men  than  you  all  my  life,  me  who  has  got 
my  hooks  in  you  deep  already,  me  who  ain't  no 
pulin'  oP  doddeiin'  softy  to  turn  over  to  a  lazy, 
shifless  vagabond  all  I've  piled  up  year  after 
year.  Buck  me,  would  you  ?  Tuck  in  an'  fire 
my  men,  butt  on  my  affairs —  Why,  you  im- 
pudent young  puppy-dog,  you:  I'll  make  you 
stick  your  tail  between  your  legs  an*  howl  like  a 
kiote  before  I'm  done  with  you !" 

Steve  looked  at  him  hopelessly;  he  might  have 
expected  this  all  along  though  he  had  hoped  for 
amity  at  least.  If  there  were  to  be  a  conflict  of 
purpose  he  could  have  wished  that  it  be  con- 
ducted in  friendly  fashion.  But  when  did  Hell- 
Fire  Packard  ever  clasp  hands  with  the  man  he 
opposed  in  anything,  when  did  he  ever  see  a 
business  rival  without  cloven  hoof,  horns,  and 
spiked  tail  ? 

"I  am  sorry  you  look  at  it  that  way,  Grandy. 
90 


The  Old  Mountain  Lion 

It  is  only  natural  that  I  should  seek  to  hold  what 


is  mine." 


"Then  hold  your  tongue,  you  young  fool!" 
blazed  out  the  old  man.  "But  don't  ask  me  to 
hold  my  hand !  I'm  goin'  after  you  tooth  and 
big  toe-nail !  If  Ranch  Number  Ten  ain't  mine 
in  all  particulars  before  you're  a  year  older  I  want 
to  know  why!" 

"I  think,"  said  the  grandson,  fighting  with 
himself  for  calmness  and  quiet  speech,  "that  any 
further  business  I  can  take  up  with  your  lawyer. 
Past  due  interest " 

"Lawyer  ?"  thundered  Packard  senior.  "Since 
when  did  I  ever  have  call  for  law  an*  lawyers  in 
my  play?  Think  I'm  a  crook,  sir?  Mean  to 
insinuate  I'm  a  crook?" 

"I  mean  nothing  of  the  kind.  A  mortgage  is 
a  legal  matter,  the  payment  of  interest  and  prin- 
cipal  " 

"Guy  Little!"  called  the  old  man.  "Guy 
Little !  Goin'  to  stay  under  that  car  all  day  ?" 

The  mechanician  promptly  appeared,  hands 
and  face  greasy  and  black  and  took  his  place  on 
the  running-board. 

"All  ready,  sir,"  he  announced  imperturbably. 

With  half-a-dozen  strides  his  master  reached 
the  car;  in  as  many  seconds  the  powerful  engine 
was  throbbing.  The  screaming  horn  gave  warn- 

91 


Man  to  Man 

ing,  the  quiet  herds  in  the  valley  heeded,  lifted 
their  heads  and  stood  at  attention,  ready  to  scam- 
per this  way  or  that  as  need  arose.  The  wheels 
turned,  the  car  jolted  over  the  inequalities  pre- 
sented by  the  field,  swerved  sharply,  turned, 
gathered  speed  and  whizzed  away  toward  the 
valley  road. 

Three  times  before  they  shot  back  into  the 
mouth  of  Blue  Bird  Canon  the  mechanician  fan- 
cied that  his  employer  had  spoken;  each  time 
listening,  he  failed  to  catch  any  other  sound  than 
that  made  by  the  engine  and  speeding  wheels. 
Once  he  said,  "Sir?"  and  got  only  silence  for  an 
answer. 

He  shook  his  head  and  wondered;  it  was  not 
Packard's  way  to  mumble  to  himself.  And 
again,  ready  to  jump  for  his  life  as  the  big  car 
took  a  dangerous  turn,  his  eyes  glued  to  the 
sheer  bank  a  few  inches  from  the  singing  tires,  he 
caught  a  sound  through  the  blast  of  the  sparton 
which  surely  must  have  come  from  the  driver's 
lips. 

"What  say  ?"  yelled  Guy  Little. 

No  answer.  He  caught  a  fleeting  glimpse  of 
a  farmer  at  the  head  of  his  two  plunging  horses 
where  the  man  had  hurriedly  got  them  out  of  the 
way  and  up  the  flank  of  the  mountain.  They 

92 


The  Old  Mountain  Lion 

raced  on.  And  again,  surely  Packard  had  said 
something. 

"Talkin'  to  me?"  called  Little. 

Then,  for  just  a  wee  fraction  of  a  second,  Pack- 
ard drew  his  eyes  from  the  road  and  his  look  met 
the  mechanician's.  The  old  man's  eyes  were  shin- 
ing strangely. 

"Damn  it,  Guy  Little,"  he  boomed  out  boister- 
ously, "can't  a  man  laugh  when  he  feels  that- 
away  ? " 

And  it  suddenly  dawned  upon  Guy  Little  that 
ever  since  they  had  left  Ranch  Number  Ten  the 
old  man  had  been  chuckling  delightedly. 


93 


CHAPTER  VIII 

IN    RED   CREEK  TOWN 

THE  little  town  of  Red  Creek  had  an  individu- 
ality all  its  own.  It  might  have  prided  it- 
self, had  it  any  civic  sense  whatever,  upon  its 
aloofness.  It  stood  apart  from  the  rest  of  the 
world,  at  a  safe  distance  from  any  of  its  rival  settle- 
ments, even  drawn  apart  as  though  distrustfully 
from  its  own  railroad  station  which  baked  and 
blistered  in  the  sun  a  good  half-mile  to  the  west. 
Grown  up  here  haphazardly  long  before  the  "Gap" 
had  been  won  through  by  the  "iron  trail,"  it  ig- 
nored the  beckoning  of  the  glistening  rails  and 
refused  to  extend  itself  toward  the  traffic  artery. 

More  than  all  this,  Red  Creek  gave  the  impres- 
sion, not  in  the  least  incorrect,  of  falling  apart 
into  two  watchful  sections  which  eyed  each  other 
suspiciously,  being  cynically  and  unsociably  in- 
clined. Its  main  street  was  as  wide  as  Van  Ness 
Avenue  and  down  the  middle  of  it,  like  a  border 
line  between  two  hostile  camps,  sprawled  a  stream 
which  shared  its  name  with  the  town. 

The  banks  here  and  there  were  the  brick-red 
of  a  soil  whose  chief  mineral  was  iron;  here  and 

94 


In  Red  Creek  Town 

there  were  screened  by  willows.  There  were  two 
insecure-looking  bridges  across  which  men  went 
infrequently. 

For  the  spirit  which  had  brooded  over  the  birth 
of  Red  Creek  when  a  sheepman  from  the  north 
and  a  cow-man  from  the  south  had  set  their 
shacks  opposite  each  other,  lived  on  now;  long 
after  the  old  feuds  were  dead  and  the  whole  of  the 
grazing  lands  had  been  won  over  to  the  cattle 
raisers,  a  new  basis  for  quarrels  had  offered  itself 
at  Red  Creek's  need. 

Much  of  this  Steve  Packard  knew,  since  it  was 
so  in  his  time,  before  he  had  gone  wandering; 
much  he  had  learned  from  Barbee  in  a  long  talk 
with  him  before  riding  the  twenty-five  miles  into 
the  village.  Old  Man  Packard  had  drawn  to 
himself  a  host  of  retainers  since  his  interests  were 
big,  his  hired-men  many,  his  wages  generous. 
And,  throughout  the  countryside  across  which 
he  cast  his  shadow,  he  had  cultivated  and  grown 
a  goodly  crop  of  enemies,  men  with  whom  he  had 
contended,  men  whom  he  had  branded  sweepingly 
as  liars  and  thieves  and  cutthroats,  men  whose 
mortgages  he  had  taken,  men  whom,  in  the  big 
game  which  he  played,  he  had  broken.  The 
northern  half  of  Red  Creek  was  usually  and  signi- 
ficantly known  as  Packard's  Town;  the  southern 
half  sold  liquor  and  merchandise,  offered  food  and 

95 


Man  to  Man 

lodging,  to  men  who  harbored  few  friendly  feel- 
ings for  Packard's  "crowd." 

Hence,  in  Red  Creek  were  two  saloons,  con- 
fronting each  other  across  the  red  scar  of  the 
creek;  two  stores,  two  lunch-counters,  two  black- 
smith shops,  each  eying  its  rival  jealously.  At 
this  time  the  post-office  had  been  secured  by  the 
Packard  faction;  the  opposition  snorted  contempt 
and  called  attention  to  the  fact  that  the  constable 
resided  with  them.  Thus  honors  were  even. 

Steve  Packard  rode  into  town  in  the  late  after- 
noon, his  motive  clear-cut,  his  need  urgent.  If 
Blenham  had  stolen  his  ten  thousand  dollars  for 
which  he  had  so  imperative  a  call  now,  then  Blen- 
ham had  been  the  one  who  had  replaced  the  large 
bank-notes  with  the  small;  there  was  the  chance 
that  Blenham,  just  a  week  ago  to-night,  had  gotten 
the  dollar  bills  in  Red  Creek.  If  such  were  the 
case  Packard  meant  to  know  it. 

"There  are  things,  Barbee,"  he  had  said 
bluntly,  "which  I  can't  tell  you  yet;  I  don't 
know  you  well  enough.  But  this  I  can  say: 
I  am  out  to  get  Blenham's  tag." 

"So'm  I,"  said  Barbee. 

"That's  one  reason  you've  got  the  job  you're 
holding  down  right  now.  Here's  one  point  though, 
which  it's  up  to  you  to  know;  I  very  much  sus- 

96 


In  Red  Creek  Town 

pect  that  for  reasons  of  his  own  Blenham  hasn't 
set  foot  for  the  last  time  on  Ranch  Number  Ten. 
He'll  come  back;  he'll  come  snooping  around  at 
night;  he'll  perhaps  have  a  way  of  knowing  the 
first  night  I'm  away  and  come  then.  There's 
something  he  left  there  that  he  wants.  At  least 
that  is  the  way  I'm  stringing  my  bet.  And  while 
I  am  away  you're  foreman,  Barbee." 

A  flickering  light  danced  in  Barbee's  blue  eyes. 

"Orders  from  you,  if  Blenham  shows  up  at 
night " 

"To  throw  a  gun  on  him  and  run  him  out  I 
The  quickest  way.  To-night  I  want  you  to 
squat  out  under  a  tree  and  keep  awake — all  night. 
For  which  you  can  have  two  days  off  if  you  want.'* 

"If  I  thought  he'd  show,"  and  the  boy's  voice 
was  little  more  than  an  eager  whisper,  "I  couldn't 
sleep  if  I  tried!" 

Then  Packard  had  spoken  a  little  about  Red 
Creek,  asking  his  few  questions  and  had  learned 
that  Blenham  had  his  friends  in  "Packard's 
Town"  where  Dan  Hodges  of  the  Ace  of  Diamonds 
saloon  was  an  old  pal,  that  "Whitey"  Wimble  of 
the  Old  Trusty  saloon  across  the  street  hated  both 
Hodges  and  Blenham  like  poison. 

"Us  boys,"  added  Barbee,  "always  hung  out 
at  the  Ace  of  Diamonds,  bein'  Packard's  men. 
After  now,  when  I  go  on  a  rampage,  I'm  goin* 

97 


Man  to  Man 

to  make  frien's  across  the  street.  Friends  some- 
times comes  in  handy  in  Red  Creek,"  he  added 
smilingly. 

The  road,  as  one  comes  into  Red  Creek  from  the 
east,  divides  at  the  first  bridge,  one  fork  becom- 
ing the  northern  half  of  the  intersected  street,  the 
other  the  southern  half.  Steve  Packard,  filling 
his  eyes  with  the  two  rows  of  similar  shacks, 
hesitated  briefly. 

Until  now  he  had  always  gone  to  the  Packard 
side;  when  a  boy  he  had  regarded  the  rival  sec- 
tion with  high  contempt,  looking  upon  it  as  in- 
ferior, sneering  at  it  as  a  thoroughbred  might  lift 
lip  at  an  unworthy  mongrel.  The  prejudice  was 
old  and  deep-rooted;  he  felt  a  subtle  sense  of 
shame  as  though  the  eyes  of  the  world  were  upon 
him,  watching  to  see  him  turn  toward  the  "low- 
down  skunks  an*  varmints"  which  his  grand- 
father had  named  these  denizens  of  the  defamed 
section. 

The  hesitation  was  brief;  he  reined  his  horse 
impatiently  to  the  left,  riding  straight  toward  the 
flaunting  sign  upon  the  lofty  false  front  of  the 
Old  Trusty  saloon.  But  short  as  was  his  indeci- 
sion it  had  not  ended  before  he  had  glimpsed  at 
the  far  end  of  the  street  the  incongruous  lines  of 
an  automobile — red  racing  type. 


In  Red  Creek  Town 

"Boyd-Merril.  Twin  Eight,"  thought  Pack- 
ard. "So  we'll  meet  on  the  same  side  after  all, 
Miss  Terry  Pert!" 

There  were  seeds  of  content  in  the  thought. 
If  it  were  to  be  range  war  between  him  and  his 
grandfather,  then  since  obviously  the  Temples 
had  already  been  drawn  into  contention  with  the 
old  man  Packard,  it  was  just  as  well  the  fates 
decreed  that  he  and  Terry  should  be  on  the  same 
side  of  the  fence,  the  same  side  of  the  fight,  the 
same  side  of  Red  Creek. 

He  tickled  his  horse  with  a  light  spur;  despite 
the  manner  of  their  last  encounter  he  could  look 
forward  with  something  akin  to  eagerness  to  an- 
other meeting.  For,  he  told  himself  carelessly, 
she  amused  him  vastly. 

But  the  meeting  was  not  just  yet.  He  saw 
Terry,  jauntily,  even  saucily  dressed,  as  she  came 
out  of  the  store  and  jumped  into  her  car,  marked 
how  the  bright  sunlight  winked  from  her  high 
boots,  how  it  flamed  upon  her  gay  red  scarf,  how 
it  glinted  from  a  burnished  steel  buckle  in  her 
hat  band.  As  bright  as  a  sunbeam  herself,  lov- 
ing gay  colors  about  her,  across  the  distance  she 
fairly  shone  and  twinkled. 

There  was  a  faint  shadow  of  regret  in  his  eyes 
as  she  let  in  the  clutch  and  whizzed  away.  She 
was  headed  down  the  street,  her  back  to  him, 

99 


Man  to  Man 

driving  toward  the  remote  railroad  station.  Off 
to  the  north  he  saw  a  growing  plume  of  black 
smoke. 

"Going  away  ?"  he  wondered.  "Or  just  meet- 
ing some  one?" 

But  he  had  come  into  Red  Creek  on  a  business 
in  no  way  connected  with  Terry  Temple. 

He  had  figured  it  out  that  Blenham,  if  it  had 
been  Blenham  who  had  chanced  on  Bill  Royce's 
secret  and  no  longer  ago  than  last  Saturday  night, 
would  have  wasted  no  time  in  acquiring  the  one- 
dollar  bills  for  his  trick  of  substitution;  that  if 
he  had  come  for  them  to  Red  Creek  that  same 
night,  after  post-office  and  stores  were  closed, 
he  would  have  sought  them  at  one  of  the  two  sa- 
loons; that,  since  currency  is  at  all  times  scarce 
in  cattle  towns  in  the  West,  he  might  have  had  to 
go  to  both  saloons  for  them. 

Packard  began  investigations  at  the  Old  Trusty 
saloon  whose  doors  stood  invitingly  open  to  the 
faint  afternoon  breeze. 

In  the  long  room  half-a-dozen  idle  men  looked 
up  at  him  with  mild  interest,  withdrawing  their 
«yes  briefly  from  solitaire  or  newspaper  or  crib- 
bage  game  or  whatever  had  been  holding  their 
careless  attention  as  he  entered. 

A  glance  at  them  showed  him  no  familiar  face. 
He  turned  to  the  bar. 

100 


In  Red  Creek  Town 

Behind  it  a  man  was  polishing  glasses  with 
quick,  skilful  hands.  Steve  knew  him  at  once 
for  Whitey  Wimble.  He  was  a  pronounced 
albino,  unhealthy-looking,  with  overlarge,  thin 
ears,  small  pale  eyes,  and  teeth  that  looked  like 
chalk.  Steve  nodded  to  him  and  spun  a  dollar 
on  the  bar. 

"Have  something,"  he  suggested. 

Wimble  returned  his  nod,  left  off  his  polishing 
to  shove  forward  a  couple  of  the  glistening  glasses, 
and  produced  a  bottle  from  behind  him. 

"Regards,"  he  said  apathetically,  taking  his 
whiskey  with  the  enthusiasm  and  expression  of  a 
man  observing  his  doctor's  orders.  "Stranger  in 
Red  Creek?" 

"I  haven't  been  here,"  Steve  answered,  "for 
several  years.  I  never  saw  the  town  any  quieter. 
Used  to  be  a  rather  gay  little  place,  didn't  it  ?" 

"It's  early  yet,"  said  Whitey,  going  back  to  his 
interrupted  task.  "Bein'  Saturday,  the  boys 
from  the  ranches  will  be  showin'  up  before  long. 
Then  it  ain't  always  so  quiet." 

Packard  made  his  cigarette,  lighted  it,  and  then 
said  casually:  "How  are  you  fixed  for  dollar  bills 
in  your  strong-box?" 

"Nary,"  returned  Whitey  Wimble  without 
troubling  himself  to  look  into  his  till.  "We  don't 
see  overmuch  rag  money  in  Red  Creek." 

101 


Man  to  Man 

"Guess  that's  so,"  admitted  Steve.  "They 
do  come  in  handy,  though,  sometimes;  when  you 
want  to  send  a  dollar  in  a  letter  or  something  of 
that  kind." 

"That's  a  fac',  too;  never  thought  of  that." 

Which,  since  he  never  wrote  or  received  letters, 
was  no  doubt  true. 

"Men  around  here  don't  have  much  use  for 
paper  money,  do  they  ? "  continued  Packard  care- 
lessly, his  interest  seeming  to  centre  in  his  cigarette 
smoke.  "I'd  bet  a  man  the  drinks  nobody  else 
has  asked  you  for  a  dollar  bill  for  the  last  six 
months." 

"You'd  lose,"  said  Whitey.  "I  had  three  of 
*em  in  the  drawer  for  a  coon's  age;  feller  asked  me 
for  'em  jus'  the  other  night." 

"Yes  ?"  He  masked  his  eagerness  as  he  thrust 
a  quarter  forward.  "The  drink's  on  me  then. 
Let  me  have  a  cigar." 

Whitey  also  took  a  cigar,  indicating  friendli- 
wise  the  better  box. 

"Who  was  it  asked  you  for  the  paper  money  ?" 
Steve  went  on.  "He  might  have  one  he  doesn't 
need." 

"It  was  Stumpy  Collins.  The  bootblack  across 
the  street." 

"I'll  look  him  up;    yesterday  he  had  them, 


yon  say  ? " 


102 


In  Red  Creek  Town 

Wimble  shook  his  head,  gave  the  matter  his 
thought  a  moment,  and  said: 

"It  was  las'  Saturday  night;  I  remember 
'cause  there  was  a  right  smart  crowd  in  an'  I 
was  busy  an'  Stumpy  kep'  pesterin'  me  until  I 
'tended  to  him.  He  won't  have  nothin'  lef  by 
this,  though;  it  ain't  Stumpy's  way  to  save  his 
money  long.  Firs'  time  I  ever  knowed  him  to  have 
three  dollars  all  at  once." 

From  the  Old  Trusty  Steve  went  across  the 
street,  leaving  his  horse  in  front  of  Wimble's 
door  where  there  was  a  big  poplar  and  a  grate- 
ful shade.  Crossing  the  second  of  the  two  bridges 
he  turned  his  eyes  toward  the  railroad  station; 
the  red  touring-car  stood  forth  brilliantly  in  the 
sunshine,  a  freight  train  was  just  pulling  in, 
Terry  was  not  to  be  seen. 

"She'll  eat  before  she  starts  back  home," 
he  thought,  hastening  his  stride  on  to  Hodges 's 
place,  the  Ace  of  Diamonds.  "I'll  see  her  at  the 
lunch-counter." 

Tucked  in  beside  the  Ace  of  Diamonds  was  a 
bootblack  stand,  a  crazy,  home-made  affair  with 
dusty  seat.  The  wielder  of  the  brush  and  polish 
was  nowhere  in  evidence.  Steve  passed  and 
turned  in  at  the  saloon  door,  wishing  to  come  to 
Hodges,  Blenham's  pal.  For  it  required  little 
imagination  to  suspect  that  it  had  been  Hodges 

103 


Man  to  Man 

at  Blenham's  behest,  or  Blenham  himself,  who  had 
sent  Stumpy  across  the  street  to  the  Old  Trusty. 

Here,  as  in  Wimble's  place,  a  few  men  loitered 
idly;  here  as  there  the  proprietor  stood  behind 
his  own  bar.  Hodges,  a  short,  squat  man  with 
a  prize-fighter's  throat,  chest,  and  shoulders  and  a 
wide,  thin-lipped  mouth,  leaned  forward  in  dirty 
shirt-sleeves,  chewing  at  a  moist  cigar-stump. 

"Hello,  stranger,"  he  offered  offhandedly. 
"What's  the  word?" 

"Know  Blenham,  don't  you?"  asked  Steve 
quietly.  "Works  for  old  man  Packard." 

"Sure,  I  know  him.     What  about  him?" 

"Seen  him  lately?" 

"Ten  minutes  ago.     Why  ?    Want  him  ?" 

Packard  had  not  counted  on  this,  having  no 
idea  that  Blenham  was  in  town.  He  hesitated, 
then  said  quickly: 

"Hasn't  left  yet,  has  he  ?    Where  is  he  now  ?" 

"Down  to  the  depot.  Trailin'  a  skirt.  An* 
some  skirt,  too,  take  it  from  me." 

He  laughed. 

Steve  wanted  suddenly  to  slap  the  broad,  ugly 
face.  Since,  however,  he  could  formulate  no 
logically  sufficient  reason  for  the  act,  he  said 
instead: 

"Maybe  I'll  see  him  before  I  pull  out.  If  I 
•don't,  ask  him  if  he  lost  a  wad  like  this  ?" 

104 


In  Red  Creek  Town 

Fleetingly  he  flashed  the  little  roll  of  banknotes 
before  Hodges's  eyes. 

"Greenbacks  ?"  asked  Hodges.     "How  much  ?" 

Packard  laughed. 

"Not  so  all-fired  much,"  he  said  lightly.  "But 
enough  to  buy  a  hat !" 

"If  hats  are  sellin'  ten  dollars  or  under?" 
ventured  Hodges. 

Packard  affected  to  look  surprised. 

"What  do  you  know  about  how  much  is  in 
this  roll  ?"  he  demanded  innocently. 

"One-dollar  bills?"  said  Hodges.  "Ten  of 
'em?" 

"You  don't  look  like  a  mind-reader." 

"Well,  you're  right  about  the  wad  bein'  Blen- 
ham's.  Leave  it  with  me,  if  you  want.  I'll  see 
he  gets  it.  There  ain't  enough  there  for  a  man 
to  steal,"  he  added  reassuringly. 

"How  do  you  know  it's  Blenham's  ?  If  he 
told  you  that  he  had  lost  it  he'd  have  told  you 
where.  What's  the  answer;  where  did  I  pick 
this  up?" 

"Blenham  didn't  say  he  los'  nothin'.  But 
I  know  it's  his  because  he  got  most  of  them  bills 
from  me." 

"Tell  me  when,"  and  Packard  held  the  roll  in 
a  tight-shut  hand,  "and  I'll  leave  them  with 
you." 

105 


Man  to  Man 

"Las'  Saturday  night,"  said  Hodges,  after  a 
brief  moment  of  reflection. 

Packard  tossed  the  little  roll  to  the  bar. 

"There's  the  money.  Tell  Blenham  I  thought 
it  was  his !" 

He  turned  to  the  door,  his  blood  suddenly 
stirred  with  certainty:  Blenham  had  stolen  the 
ten  thousand  dollars,  and  the  theft  had  been  com- 
mitted no  longer  ago  than  last  Saturday  night. 
Just  a  week — there  was  the  chance — 

"Hey,  there,"  called  Hodges.  "Who'll  I  say 
lef  this  ?  What  name,  stranger?" 

Steve  turned  and  regarded  him  coolly. 

"Tell  him  Steve  Packard  called.  Steve  Pack- 
ard, boss  of  Ranch  Number  Ten." 

And  Dan  Hodges,  dull  wit  that  he  was,  felt 
that  something  was  wrong.  The  look  in  the 
stranger's  eyes  had  altered  swiftly,  the  eyes  had 
grown  hard.  Steve  went  out.  As  he  reached 
the  sidewalk  he  glimpsed  a  red  automobile  racing 
townward  from  the  station.  Behind  it,  riding  in 
its  dust,  came  Blenham. 


106 


CHAPTER  IX 

"IT'S   MY   FIGHT  AND   HIS.      LET   HIM   GO  !" 

STEVE  PACKARD,  walking  swiftly,  reached 
the  west  bridge  just  before  the  front  tires  of 
Terry's  car  thudded  on  the  heavy  planks.     He 
glimpsed  Blenham  jogging  along  behind  her  and 
knew  that  Blenham  had  seen  him. 

But  his  eyes  were  for  Terry  now.  She,  too, 
had  recognized  him  with  but  a  few  yards  separat- 
ing them.  She  gave  him  a  blast  of  her  hprn 
warningly,  and,  slowing  down  no  more  than  was 
necessary  for  the  sharp  turn,  came  on  across  the 
bridge.  He  read  it  in  her  eye  that  it  would  be  an 
abiding  joy  for  Miss  Terry  if  she  could  send  him 
scampering  out  of  her  way;  the  horn  as  much  as 
said:  "You  step  aside  or  I'll  run  you  down!" 

With  no  intention  of  going  under  the  wheels, 
Steve  waited  until  the  last  moment  and  then 
jumped.  But  not  to  the  side  as  Terry  had  an- 
ticipated. Obeying  his  impulse  and  taking  his 
chance,  he  sprang  up  to  her  running-board  as 
she  whizzed  over  the  bouncing  planks  of  the 
bridge,  grasping  the  door  of  her  car  to  steady 
himself.  The  feat  safely  accomplished,  he  grinned 
up  into  Terry's  startled  eyes. 

107 


Man  to  Man 

"We  meet  again,"  he  laughed  sociably. 
"Howdy!" 

Her  lips  tight-pressed,  she  gave  her  attention 
for  a  moment  to  her  wheel  and  the  rutty  road  in 
front  of  her.  Her  cheeks  were  red  and  grew 
redder.  Perhaps  a  dozen  men,  here  and  there 
upon  the  street,  had  seen.  She  had  meant  them 
to  see;  it  would  have  tickled  her  no  little  to  have 
had  them  note  Steve  Packard  flying  wildly  to  the 
side  of  the  road  while  she  shot  by.  She  had  not 
counted  upon  him  doing  anything  else. 

"Smarty!"  she  cried  hotly. 

"Smart  enough  to  climb  out  from  under  when 
an  automobile  driven  by  a  manslaughter  artist 
comes  along,"  he  chuckled,  sensing  an  advantage 
and  drawing  a  deep  enjoyment  from  it.  "Don't 
you  know,  young  lady,  youVe  got  to  be  careful 
sometimes  ?  Now,  if  you  had  run  over  me ' 

"Serve  you  right,"  sniffed  Terry. 

"Yes,  but  think!  Running  over  a  man  who 
hasn't  had  time  to  take  his  spurs  off  yet,  why  you 
stood  all  kinds  of  chances  getting  a  puncture ! 
You  don't  want  to  forget  things  like  that." 

Terry  bit  her  lip,  stepped  on  the  throttle, 
swung  across  the  street,  made  a  reckless  turn,  and 
brought  up  in  front  of  the  lunch-counter. 

"Do  you  know,"  remarked  Packard  lightly, 
ignoring  the  fact  that  she  had  answered  him  with 

108 


"It's  My  Fight  and  His" 

only  the  contempt  of  her  silence,  "you  remind  me 
of  my  grandfather.  Fact !  You  two  have  the 
same  little  trick  of  driving.  Wonder  what  would 
happen  if  you  and  he  met  on  a  narrow  road  ?" 

"At  least,"  said  Terry,  eying  him  belligerently, 
"he  is  a  man,  if  he  is  a  scoundrel.  Not  just  a 
hobo!" 

"Oh,  I  didn't  mean  to  call  you  a  scoundrel! 
Nor  yet  to  say  that  you  struck  me  as  mannish. 
Of  course- 

"Oh,  you  make  me  sick !"  cried  Terry.  And  she 
flashed  away  from  him,  going  into  the  lunch-room. 

He  followed  her  with  speculative  eyes.  Then 
he  glanced  across  the  street.  Blenham  had  dis- 
mounted in  front  of  the  Ace  of  Diamonds  and 
was  watching.  As  Packard  turned  Blenham  went 
into  Hodges's  saloon. 

"Wonder  what  he'll  have  to  say  when  Hodges 
hands  him  his  roll?"  mused  Packard. 

Well,  he  had  accomplished  his  purpose.  He 
had  done  all  that  he  had  hoped  to  do  in  Red 
Creek  this  afternoon,  had  assured  himself  that 
his  suspicions  against  Blenham  were  justified  by 
the  fact  and  that  the  theft  was  only  a  week  old. 
He  went  back  slowly  to  his  horse  in  front  of  the 
Old  Trusty.  But  his  eyes  were  frowning  thought- 
fully. 

What  would  be  Blenham's  next  move  ?  What 
109 


Man  to  Man 

would  Blenham  do,  what  would  he  say  when 
Hodges  gave  him  Packard's  message  ?  Might 
he,  in  an  unguarded  moment,  give  a  hint  toward 
the  answer  of  that  other  question  which  now  had 
become  the  only  consideration:  "Were  the  larger 
banknotes  still  hidden  at  Ranch  Number  Ten  or 
had  Blenham  already  removed  them?" 

Instead  of  mounting  to  ride  away,  Packard 
hung  his  spurs  upon  his  saddlehorn  and  turned 
again  into  Whitey  Wimble's  place. 

The  late  afternoon  faded  into  dusk,  the  first 
stars  came  out,  Whitey  Wimble  lighted  his  lamps. 
Steve,  advised  of  the  fact  by  the  purr  of  a  motor, 
knew  when  Terry  left  the  lunch-room  and  drove 
to  the  store  for  a  visit  with  the  storekeeper's 
wife.  Was  she  going  to  remain  in  town  over- 
night ?  It  began  to  look  as  though  she  were. 

Across  the  street  Hodges  came  out  and  lighted 
the  big  lamps  at  each  side  of  his  doorway.  A  cow- 
boy swung  down  from  his  horse  and  went  in,  his 
spurs  winking  in  the  lamplight  as  though  there 
were  jewels  upon  them.  A  buckboard  pulled 
up  and  two  other  men  went  in  after  him.  A  voice 
in  sudden  laughter  boomed  out.  Saturday  night 
had  come.  As  Whitey  Wimble  had  predicted, 
the  boys  were  showing  up  and  Red  Creek  stood 
ready  to  lose  something  of  its  brooding  afternoon 
quiet. 

no 


"It's  My  Fight  and  His" 

Once  again  Packard  crossed  the  bridge  and 
made  his  way  along  the  echoing  wooden  sidewalk 
to  the  Ace  of  Diamonds.  A  dozen  saddle-horses 
were  tied  at  the  hitching-rail.  Among  them 
was  Blenham's  white-footed  bay.  Up  and  down 
the  street  glowing  cigarette  ends  like  fireflies  came 
and  went.  In  front  of  the  saloon  a  number  of 
men  made  a  good-natured,  tongue-free  crowd, 
most  of  whom  had  had  their  first  drinks  and  were 
beginning  to  liven  up  as  in  duty  bound  on  a 
Saturday  night. 

A  four-horse  wagon  came  rattling  into  town 
from  the  east  to  pour  out  its  contents,  big,  husky 
men,  at  Hodges's  door.  Among  them  Packard 
recognized  one  man.  He  was  the  lumber-camp 
cook  from  whom  he  had  gotten  coffee  and  hot- 
cakes  the  other  day,  that  morning  after  he  had 
refused  to  accept  Terry's  cool  invitation  to  break- 
fast. 

"I'll  have  to  look  in  on  those  fellows  to- 
morrow," he  thought  as  they  shouldered  past, 
boisterous  and  eager.  "Grandy's  sure  had  his 
nerve  cutting  my  timber  with  never  so  much  as 
a  by-your-leave." 

Their  foreman  was  with  them;  one  glance 
singled  him  out.  He  was  of  that  type  chosen 
always  by  old  man  Packard  to  head  any  one  of 
the  Packard  units,  a  sort  of  confident  mastery  in 

in 


Man  to  Man 

his  very  stride,  the  biggest  man  of  them,  unkempt 
and  heavy,  with  a  brutal  face  and  hard  eyes. 
Joe  Woods,  his  name.  Packard  had  already 
heard  of  him,  a  rowdy  and  a  rough-neck  but  a 
capable  timberjack  to  the  calloused  fingers  of 
him.  He  followed  the  men  into  the  saloon. 

At  his  place  behind  the  long  bar  was  Hodges, 
busy  filling  imperative  orders,  taking  in  the 
money  which  he  counted  as  good  as  his  once  it 
left  the  paymaster's  pocket.  But  it  struck  Pack- 
ard that  the  bartender  did  not  appear  happy; 
his  face  was  flushed  and  hot,  his  eyes  looked 
troubled.  Now  and  then  he  flashed  a  quick  look 
at  Blenham  who  stood  leaning  against  the  bar 
at  the  far  end,  twisting  an  empty  whiskey-glass 
slowly  in  his*,  big  hand,  staring  frowningly  at 
nothing. 

"Hodges  is  a  fool  and  he  has  just  been  told  so !" 
was  Steve's  answer  to  the  situation. 

"  Hi,  Blenham  ! "  called  big  Joe  Woods.  "  Have 
a  drink/' 

"No,"  growled  Blenham,  deep  down  i.i  his 
throat.  "I  don't  want  it.  I— 

His  eyes,  lifted  to  the  lumber-camp  boss,  passed 
on  and  rested  on  Steve  Packard.  He  broke  off 
abruptly,  his  look  changing,  probing,  seeming  full 
of  question. 

"Get  the  money  I  gave  Hodges  for  you?" 
112 


"It's  My  Fight  and  His" 

asked  Packard,  coming  into  the  room.  "The 
ten  one-dollar  bills  that  you  left  behind  you?" 

"They  wasn't  mine/'  said  Blenham  quickly, 
his  hand  hard  about  the  whiskey  glass,  his  man- 
ner vaguely  nervous.  "I  tol'  Dan  to  give  'em 
back  to  you." 

Steve  smiled. 

"  Funny,"  he  said  carelessly.    " Hodges  said 

"I  made  a  mistake,"  called  Hodges  sharply. 
"I  got  Blenham  mixed  up  with  some  other  guy. 
I  don't  know  nothin'  about  this  here."  He 
slammed  the  little  roll  down  on  the  bar.  "Come 
get  it,  if  you  want  it."  Packard  promptly  stepped 
forward,  taking  the  money. 

"I  figured  there  was  a  chance  to  make  ten 
dollars,  easy  money,  if  I  just  walked  across  the 
street  for  it,"  he  said,  looking  pleasantly  from 
Hodges  to  Blenham.  "Sure,  I  want  it.  It's 
luck-money;  didn't  you  know?  You  see,  when 
a  man  loses  anything  he  loses  some  of  his  luck 
with  it;  when  another  man  gets  it,  he  gets  the 
luck  along  with  it.  Thanks,  Blenham." 

Blenham  made  no  answer.  His  eyes  were 
bright  with  anger  and  yet  troubled  with  uncer- 
tainty. The  uncertainty  was  there  to  be  recog- 
nized by  him  who  looked  keenly  for  it.  Blenham 
did  not  know  just  which  way  to  jump.  From 
that  fact  Steve  drew  a  deep  satisfaction.  For 


Man  to  Man 

there  would  have  been  no  reason  for  indecision  if 
Blenham  knew  that  he  had  those  other,  bigger 
bank-notes,  safe. 

At  the  rear  of  the  long  room  a  man  was  dealing 
cards  for  seven-and-a-half.  As  though  to  demon- 
strate the  truth  of  his  boast  about  "luck-money" 
Steve  stepped  to  the  table,  the  roll  of  bills  in  his 
hand.  He  was  dealt  a  card.  Without  turning  it 
up  to  look  at  it  he  shoved  it  under  the  ten  bank- 
notes. 

"Standing?"  said  the  dealer. 

Steve  nodded. 

"Playing  my  luck,"  he  answered. 

The  dealer  turned  lack-lustre  eyes  upon  Steve's 
card,  then  upon  his  own  which  he  turned  up.  It 
was  the  four  of  clubs. 

"I've  the  hunch  that  will  beat  you,  pardner," 
he  said  listlessly.  "But  I'll  come  again." 

He  turned  another  card,  a  deuce. 

"That'll  about  beat  you,"  he  suggested.  He 
leaned  forward  for  Steve's  card.  "Unless  you've 
got  a  seven  in  the  hole." 

And  a  seven  it  was;  the  bright  red  seven  of 
hearts.  The  dealer  paid,  ten  dollars  to  Steve's  ten. 

"Come  again  ?"  he  asked. 

"Not  to-night,"  returned  Packard.  "I  took 
just  the  one  flutter  to  show  Blenham." 

He  turned  and  saw  that  Blenham  had  already 
114 


"It's  My  Fight  and  His 


f  > 


slipped  quietly  out  of  the  room.  Dan  Hodges, 
his  face  a  fiery  red,  was  just  coming  back  from 
the  card-room.  With  him  was  the  big  timber  boss. 

"Tin-horn!"  shouted  Joe  Woods  at  Packard. 
"Quitter!" 

A  quick  joy  spurted  up  in  Steve  Packard's 
heart;  he  was  right  about  Blenham.  Blenham, 
filled  with  anxiety,  had  gone  already,  would  be 
rushing  back  to  Ranch  Number  Ten  to  make  sure 
if  the  ten  thousand  dollars  were  safe  or  had  been 
discovered  already  by  the  rightful  owner.  He  had 
slipped  away  hurriedly  but,  after  the  fashion  of 
a  careful,  practical  man,  had  taken  time  to  con- 
fer with  Dan  Hodges  and  had  commissioned  Joe 
Woods  to  hold  Packard  here.  And  so,  though 
he  could  not  remember  of  having  ever  run  away 
from  a  fight  before,  Steve  Packard  was  strongly 
of  that  mind  right  now. 

"Joe  Woods,  I  believe  ? "  he  said  coolly,  his 
mind  busy  with  the  new  problem  of  a  new  situa- 
tion. "Boss  of  the  timber  crew  on  the  east  side 
of  Number  Ten  ?  I  was  planning  on  riding  out 
to-morrow  for  a  word  with  you,  Woods." 

"So  ?"  cried  Woods.  "What's  the  matter  with 
havin'  that  word  to-night  ? " 

"Haven't  time,"  was  the  simple  rejoinder. 
"I'm  about  due  across  the  street  now;  at  Whitey 
Wimble's  place." 


Man  to  Man 

"Which  is  where  you  belong/'  growled  Woods, 
his  under  jaw  thrust  forward,  his  whole  attitude 
charged  with  quarrelsome  intent.  "Over  at  the 
White  Rat's  with  the  rest  of  the  Willies  !" 

The  ever-ready  Packard  temper  was  getting 
into  Steve's  head,  beating  in  his  temples,  pounding 
along  his  pulses.  He  had  never  had  a  man  bait 
him  like  that  before.  But  he  strove  to  remember 
Blenham  only,  to  take  stock  of  the  fact  that  this 
was  a  bit  of  Blenham's  game,  and  that  any  trouble 
with  another  than  Blenham  was  to  be  avoided 
at  this  juncture.  So,  though  the  color  was  rising 
into  his  face  and  a  little  flicker  of  fire  came  into 
his  eyes,  he  said  briefly: 

"Then  I'd  better  go  across,  hadn't  I  ?  See 
you  in  the  morning,  Woods." 

But  there  is  always  the  word  to  whip  the  hot 
blood  into  the  coolest  head,  to  snare  a  man's  cau- 
tion out  of  him  and  inject  fury  in  its  stead,  and 
Joe  Woods,  a  downright  man  and  never  a  subtle, 
put  his  tongue  to  it.  On  the  instant  Packard 
gave  over  thought  of  such  side  issues  as  a  man 
named  Blenham  and  hidden  bank-notes. 

He  cried  out  inarticulately  and  leaped  forward 
and  struck.  Joe  Woods  reeled  under  the  first 
blow  full  in  the  face,  staggered  under  the  second, 
and  was  borne  back  into  the  tight-jammed  crowd 
of  his  followers. 

116 


"It's  My  Fight  and  His" 

The  men  about  him  and  Packard  withdrew 
this  way  and  that,  leaving  empty  floor  space  to 
accommodate  the  two  pairs  of  shuffling  boots. 
Joe  Woods  wiped  his  lips  with  the  back  of  a  big, 
hairy  hand,  saw  traces  of  blood,  and  charged. 
The  sound  of  blows  given  and  taken  and  of  little 
grunts  and  of  scraping  feet  were  for  a  space  the 
only  sounds  heard  in  Hodges's  saloon. 

Packard's  attack  had  been  swift  and  sure  and 
not  without  a  certain  skill;  against  it  Woods  op- 
posed all  he  had,  ponderous  strength,  slow-mov- 
ing, brutal  force,  broad-backed,  deep-chested  en- 
durance. But  from  the  first  it  was  clear  to  all 
who  watched  and  was  suspected  by  Woods  him- 
self that  he  had  chosen  the  wrong  man. 

Steve  was  taller,  had  the  longer  reach,  was 
gifted  by  the  gods  with  a  supple  strength  no  whit 
less  than  the  bearish  power  cf  the  timber  boss. 
With  ten  blows  struck,  with  both  men  rocking 
dizzily,  it  was  patently  Steve  Packard's  fight. 
But  a  dull,  dogged  persistence  was  in  Joe  Woods's 
eyes  as  again  he  shook  his  head  and  charged. 

Steve  struck  for  the  stomach  and  landed — 
hard.  Woods  doubled  up;  the  sweat  came  in 
drops  upon  his  forehead;  his  face  went  suddenly 
a  sick  white.  But  the  light  in  his  eyes,  as  again 
he  lifted  his  head,  was  unaltered. 

"He  can  lick  me — I  know  it !  He  can  lick  me 
117 


Man  to  Man 

—I  know  it!"  he  muttered  and  kept  muttering. 
"But,  by  God,  he's  got  to  do  it !" 

And  Steve  did  it  and  men  looked  on  queerly, 
appraising  him  anew.  He  took  Woods's  blows 
when  he  must  and  felt  the  pain  go  stabbing  through 
his  body;  but  he  stood  up  and  struck  back  and 
forced  the  fight  steadily,  crowding  his  adversary 
relentlessly,  seeming  always  to  strike  swifter  and 
harder. 

It  was  a  bleeding  fist  driven  into  Joe  Woods's 
throbbing  throat,  followed  by  the  other  fist,  going 
piston-like,  at  Joe  Woods's  stomach,  that  ended 
the  fight. 

The  bigger  man  crumpled  and  went  down 
slowly  like  one  of  his  own  trees  just  toppling,  and 
lay  staring  up  into  Packard's  face  with  dull  eyes. 
Steve  stepped  over  him,  going  to  the  door. 

"I'll  see  you  in  the  morning,  Woods,"  he 
panted. 

But  again  boots  were  shuffling  on  the  floor  and 
already  several  men,  Dan  Hodges  among  them, 
were  between  him  and  the  door.  It  dawned 
upon  him  that  Blenham  must  have  given  emphatic 
orders  and  that  Blenham  had  the  trick  of  exacting 
obedience. 

"Hold  him  here,"  shouted  Hodges,  and  being  a 
man  of  little  spirit  he  withdrew  hastily  under 
Steve's  eyes,  thrusting  another  man  in  front  of 

118 


The  men  about  him  and  Packard  withdrew  this  way  and 
that  leaving  empty  floor  space 


"It's  My  Fight  and  His" 

him.  "Keep  him  for  the  sheriff.  Startin'  a 
fight  in  my  place — it's  disturbin'  the  peace,  that's 
what  it  is  !  I  won't  stand  it !" 

Packard  drew  back  two  or  three  paces,  his  eyes 
narrowing.  At  that  instant  he  was  sure  of  what 
he  saw  in  the  faces  of  at  least  three  of  the  men 
confronting  him;  they  were  going  to  rush  him 
together. 

But  now  Joe  Woods  was  on  his  feet  again. 
Packard  drew  still  further  back,  getting  the  wall 
behind  him.  And  then  came  a  diversion.  It  was 
Joe  Woods  speaking  heavily: 

"I  fought  him  fair  an'  he  licked  me.  Think 
I'm  the  kind  of  a  she-man  as  stands  for  you  guys 
buttin'  in  on  my  fight?  Stand  back  an'  let  him 
go!" 

"Blenham  said — "  screamed  Hodges. 

"Damn  Blenham  an'  you,  too,"  growled  Woods. 
"It's  my  fight  an'  his.  Let  him  go !" 

They  let  him  go,  drawing  apart  slowly.  With 
watchful  eyes  Steve  passed  down  the  little  lane 
they  made.  At  the  door  he  turned,  saying 
briefly: 

"I'll  see  you  in  the  morning,  Woods  !" 

Then  he  went  out. 


119 


CHAPTER  X 

A    RIDE    WITH  JERRY 

RETURNING  at  once  to  the  Old  Trusty,  on 
the  way  passing  Terry's  car  which  still 
stood  in  front  of  the  store,  Steve  Packard  asked 
for  the  use  of  a  telephone.  Whitey  nodded 
toward  the  office,  a  little  room  thinly  partitioned 
off  from  the  larger.  A  moment  later  Barbee's 
voice  was  answering  from  Ranch  Number  Ten. 

"He's  on  the  way,  Barbee,"  said  Steve  quickly. 
'/Left  Red  Creek  just  a  few  minutes  ago.  I'll 
trail  him.  Give  him  the  chance  to  prowl  around 
a  little;  try  and  find  what  he's  after.  But  don't 
let  him  get  away  with  it !  Understand  ?  Shoot 
the  legs  out  from  under  him  if  you  have  to.  I'll 
give  you  a  month's  pay  for  the  night's  work  if 
you  nail  him  with  the  goods  on." 

Clicking  up  the  receiver  he  went  out  on  the 
street  again,  giving  no  heed  to  the  many  glances 
which  followed  him.  They  knew  who  he  was; 
they  were  speculating  on  him.  "01'  man  Pack- 
ard's gran'son,"  he  heard  one  man  say. 

In  the  thick  darkness  lying  under  the  poplar 
tree  it  was  several  minutes  before  he  was  certain 

120 


A  Ride  with  Terry 

that  his  horse  was  gone.  He  had  tethered  the 
animal  himself;  there  was  no  dangling  bit  of 
rope  to  indicate  a  broken  tie-rope.  Blenham, 
the  practical,  had  simply  taken  thought  of  detail. 

"Not  missing  a  single  bet,  is  Blenham,"  he 
thought  savagely. 

He  swung  about  and  reentered  the  saloon.  A 
buzz  of  talk  up  and  down  the  long  room  promptly 
died  away  as  again  the  eyes  of  many  men  travelled 
his  way.  It  struck  him  that  they  had  all  been 
talking  of  him;  he  knew  that  they  must  have 
marked  those  signs  which  Joe  Woods's  fists  had 
left  on  his  ^ce;  he  stood  a  moment  looking  in  on 
them,  conscious  for  the  first  time  of  his  rapidly 
swelling  right  eye,  seeking  to  estimate  what  these 
men  made  of  him. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  the  one  emotion  he 
glimpsed  on  all  hands  and  in  varying  degrees,  was 
distrust.  Little  cause  for  surprise  there:  he  was 
a  Packard  and  this  was  not  the  Packard  side  of 
Red  Creek. 

"Somebody's  put  me  on  foot,"  he  announced 
crisply.  "I  left  my  horse  outside,  tied.  It's 
gone  now.  Know  anything  about  it,  any  of  you 
boys?" 

They  looked  their  interest.  Hereabouts  one 
man  did  not  trifle  with  another  man's  horse. 
But  there  was  no  answer  to  his  direct  question. 

121 


Man  to  Man 

"I've  got  to  be  riding/'  he  went  on  quietly. 
"Who  can  lend  me  a  saddle-horse  for  the  night? 
I'll  pay  double  what  it's  worth." 

Whitey  Wimble  gave  his  bar  a  long  swipe  with 
his  wet  towel. 

"If  you're  askin'  favors,  seems  to  me  you're 
on  the  wrong  side  the  street,  ain't  you,  stranger  ?" 

"Meaning  I  am  a  Packard  ?" 

"You  got  me  the  firs'  time.  That's  Packard's 
Town  over  yonder.  Your  crowd " 

"Look  at  my  eye !"  then  said  Steve  quickly. 

A  big  man  with  a  thin  little  voice  at  the  far 
end  of  the  room  giggled. 

"I  seen  it  already,"  said  Wimble. 

"  Know  Joe  Woods  ?  Well,  he's  got  another 
just  like  it.  Know  Blenham  ?  Blenham  sicked 
him  on  me !  Know  old  man  Packard  ?  He's 
sicking  Blenham  on  me.  Want  to  know  what  I 
want  a  horse  for?  Blenham's  got  a  head  start 
and  I  want  to  overhaul  him !  To  tell  him  he's 
a  crook  and  a  thief.  Now  is  this  side  of  Red 
Creek  open  to  me  or  is  it  shut  ?  What's  the  an- 
swer, Whitey  Wimble  ?  " 

Wimble  appeared  both  impressed  and  yet 
hesitant.  Here  was  a  Packard  to  deal  with  and 
Whitey  Wimble  when  taking  over  the  destiny  of 
the  Old  Trusty  had  been  set  clear  in  the  matter 
that  he  had  a  ripe,  old  feud  to  maintain;  and  still, 

122 


A  Ride  with  Terry 

looking  at  it  the  other  way,  here  was  a  man  who 
carried  the  sign  of  Joe  Woods's  fist  upon  his 
bruised  face,  who  announced  that  he  was  out  to 
get  Blenham,  that  there  was  open  trouble  between 
him  and  old  man  Packard. 

Whitey  Wimble,  beginning  by  looking  puzzled, 
wound  up  by  turning  a  distressed  face  toward 
Steve. 

"It's  kind  of  a  fine  point,"  he  suggested  finally. 
"Now,  come  right  down  to  it,  it  sort  of  looks  to 
me " 

"Fine  point!"  cried  Steve  hotly,  a  sudden 
anger  growing  within  him  as  he  thought  how  Blen- 
ham had  played  the  game  all  along  the  line,  how 
Blenham  might  well  prove  too  shrewd  for  a  boy 
like  Barbee,  how  a  set  of  prejudiced  fools  here  in 
the  Old  Trusty  by  denying  him  the  loan  of  a  horse 
might  seriously  be  aiding  Blenham  whom  none 
of  them  had  any  love  for.  "Why,  damn  it,  man, 
haven't  I  told  you  that  Blenham  has  just  put  a 
raw  deal  across  on  me,  that  he's  coming  close  to 
getting  away  with  it,  that  all  I  ask  is  a  horse  to 
run  him  down  ?  Who's  going  to  let  me  have  one  ? 
I'm  in  a  hurry!" 

Never  until  now  did  he  realize  how  strong  a 
factor  in  the  life  of  the  community  was  the  prej- 
udice against  his  blood.  On  every  hand  he  saw 
doubt,  clouded  eyes,  distrust.  Plainly  many  a 

123 


Man  to  Man 

man  there  held  him  for  a  liar;  would  even  go  so 
far,  it  was  possible,  as  to  suggest  later  that  Steve 
Packard  had  meant  to  steal  the  horse  he  asked 
for.  Steve  stared  about  him  a  moment,  his  back 
stiffening.  Then,  with  a  little  grunt  of  disgust, 
he  strode  across  the  room. 

"At  least,"  he  flung  over  his  shoulder  at  Whitey 
Wimble,  "I  am  going  to  use  your  telephone 
again!" 

Without  waiting  for  an  answer  and  caring  not 
the  snap  of  his  fingers  what  that  answer  might 
be,  he  went  to  the  telephone,  jerking  down  the 
receiver,  saying  brusquely  to  the  operator: 

"Ranch  Number  Ten,  please.     In  a  hurry." 

He  waited  impatiently  and,  it  seemed  to  him,  an 
inexcusably  long  time.  Finally  the  operator  said 
after  the  aloof  manner  of  telephone  girls : 

"I  am  ringing  them." 

And  again 

"I  am  ringing  them." 

And  then 

"They  do  not  answer." 

And  at  last,  and  then  only  when  Steve  made 
emphatic  that  there  must  be  some  one  at  the 
Number  Ten  bunk-house  at  this  hour,  the  girl 
said: 

"Wait  a  minute." 

And  after  that: . 

124 


A  Ride  with  Terry 

"There  seems  to  be  something  the  matter  with 
the  line.  I  can't  raise  any  of  the  ranch-houses 
out  that  way.  We'll  send  a  man  out  in  the 
morning." 

So  he  couldn't  even  warn  Barbee  that  Blenham 
had  made  good  his  head-start;  that  Blenham  was 
plainly  of  one  mind  to-night;  that  it  was  up  to 
young  Barbee  to  keep  his  eyes  open  and  his  gun 
cocked.  He  began  to  understand  why  his  grand- 
father had  made  Blenham  one  of  his  right-hand 
men;  he  had  the  cool  mind  and  the  way  of  acting 
quickly  which  makes  for  success. 

"I  got  a  horse  for  you,  pardner,"  said  a  slow 
voice  as  Packard  came  out  of  the  office.  "A  cay- 
use  as  can't  be  beat  for  legs  an'  lungs.  Come 
ahead." 

Steve  looked  at  him  eagerly.  He  was  a  little 
fellow,  leather-cheeked,  keen-eyed,  leisurely;  a 
stranger,  obviously  a  cowboy. 

"I  work  for  Brocky  Lane,"  offered  the  stranger 
as  they  went  out  together.  "Know  him,  don't 
you?" 

"I  did  a  dozen  years  ago,"  answered  Steve 
absently.  "Where's  your  horse  ?  " 

"You're  Steve  Packard,  ain't  you?  You  done 
Brocky  a  favor  when  you  was  a  kid,  didn't  you  ? 
Brocky  told  me.  Brocky's  done  me  a  favor. 
I'm  doin'  you  a  favor.  That  squares  us  up  all 

125 


Man  to  Man 

'round.     Like  a  circle,  all  in  a  ring,  sort  of;   get 
me?" 

"Yes,"  agreed  Steve,  feeling  vaguely  that  the 
cowman  had  unknowingly  touched  upon  a  problem 
in  higher  mathematics.  He  slipped  a  hand  into 
his  pocket. 

But  the  friend  whom  an  old,  long-forgotten 
kindness  raised  now  for  him  at  his  need,  shook 
his  head,  would  have  none  of  Packard's  money, 
and  led  the  way  to  a  shed  behind  the  saloon. 
Out  of  the  darkness  he  brought  a  tall,  wall-eyed 
roan,  quickly  saddled  and  bridled  and  handed 
over  to  Steve. 

"Heeled?"  came  solicitously  from  the  little 
man  as  Steve  swung  up  into  the  saddle. 

"No." 

"Well,  Blenham  is.  He  goes  that  way  all  the 
time.  An*  he's  a  right  good  shot,  the  boys  say. 
If  there's  some  real  sour  blood  stirred  up  between 
him  an*  you  there's  no  use  bein'  a  plumb  fool,  is 
there?  The  store's  apt  to  be  open  yet;  there's  a 
firs '-class  double-barrel  shot-gun,  secon'-hand  but 
as  good  as  new,  in  the  window.  Only  seven  dollars 
an' a  half." 

"I'll  send  the  horse  over  to  Brocky's  to-mor- 
row," called  Steve.  "And  as  for  being  square — 
call  on  me  at  any  time  for  the  next  favor.  So 
long." 

126 


A  Ride  with  Terry 

"So  long,"  responded  the  slow-voiced  man. 

Steve  swung  out  toward  the  east,  curbing  his 
mount's  eagerness,  settling  himself  in  the  saddle 
for  a  couple  of  hours  of  hard  riding.  Slowly  he 
would  warm  up  the  big  roan,  letting  him  out 
gradually,  steadily.  Already  he  sensed  that  in 
truth  here  was  "a  cayuse  hard  to  beat  for  legs 
an'  lungs."  And  Blenham's  head-start  was  but  a 
matter  of  minutes,  half  an  hour  at  most. 

But  before  he  had  ridden  fifty  yards  Steve 
whirled  his  horse  and  rode  back,  going  straight 
to  the  store.  After  all,  since  Blenham  was  play- 
ing a  game  in  which  the  stakes  were  no  less  than 
ten  thousand  dollars,  since  Blenham  was  without 
doubt  the  man  who  had  sought  to  kill  Bill  Royce 
six  months  ago  for  the  very  same  money,  since 
Blenham  always  "went  heeled  and  was  a  right 
good  shot,"  why  then,  as  Brocky  Lane's  cowboy 
put  it,  "there  was  no  use  bein'  a  plumb  fool." 
And  to  ride  a  hundred  yards  or  so  and  buy  a  Colt 
.45  and  a  box  of  cartridges  required  but  a  moment. 

In  the  store  the  long  shelves  upon  one  side  held 
dry-goods,  while  upon  the  opposite  shelves  a 
miscellany  of  groceries  was  displayed;  toward 
the  rear  was  the  storekeeper's  assortment  of  hard- 
ware near  a  counter  piled  high  with  sweaters, 
boots,  chaparejos,  all  jumbled  hopelessly.  At  the 
flank  of  this  confusion  was  a  show-case  contain- 

127 


Man  to  Man 

ing  a  rather  fair  line  of  side-arms.  Steve,  his  eye 
finding  what  it  sought,  went  straight  to  the  back 
of  the  house.  And  then,  looking  through  an  open 
door  which  gave  entrance  to  the  living-room  of 
the  storekeeper's  family,  his  glance  met  Terry's. 
She  was  rising  to  her  feet,  drawing  on  her  gauntlets. 

"That's  your  train  now,"  a  woman's  voice  was 
saying. 

Packard  heard  the  whistling  of  a  distant  en- 
gine. He  lifted  his  hat,  she  promptly  whirled 
about,  giving  him  her  back  to  look  at. 

"Here's  what  I  want,"  said  Steve  as  the  store- 
keeper came  to  his  side.  "That  .45,  and  a  box 
of  cartridges." 

Terry  turned  again  quickly  and  he  surprised  a 
little  look  of  interest  in  her  slightly  widened  eyes. 
A  man  doesn't  buy  a  gun  and  a  box  of  cartridges 
at  this  time  of  night  unless  he  has  a  use  for  them. 
Packard  took  up  his  new  purchases,  went  out, 
swung  again  into  the  saddle,  and  clattered  down 
the  street. 

The  night  was  bright  with  stars,  clear  and  sweet. 
Presently,  with  only  a  handful  of  miles  behind 
him,  the  moon  rose  above  the  distant  ridge,  at 
the  full,  glorious  and  generous  of  light.  He  loos- 
ened his  reins  a  little,  gave  the  big  roan  his  head, 
and  swept  on  through  the  ghostly-lighted  country. 

Now  and  then,  remarking  some  old  remem- 
128 


A  Ride  with  Terry 

bered  landmark,  he  glanced  from  it  to  his  watch; 
more  than  once,  having  slipped  his  watch  again 
into  his  pocket,  he  leaned  forward  and  patted  the 
horse's  neck. 

Then — he  had  done  a  little  more  than  half  the 
distance  and  was  riding  through  the  thick  shad- 
ows of  Laurel  Canon,  which  marks  the  beginning 
of  the  long  grade — the  unforeseen  occurred;  the 
unlooked-for  which,  he  knew  now,  he  would  have 
fully  expected,  had  he  not  counted  always  upon 
Blenham  playing  a  lone  hand. 

In  the  middle  of  the  inky  blotch  made  by  the 
laurels  standing  up  against  the  moon  there  was 
a  spot  through  which  the  moon-rays  found  their 
way,  making  a  pool  of  light.  As  Packard  rode 
into  this  bright  area  he  heard  a  rifle-shot,  star- 
tlingly  loud;  saw  the  spit  of  flame  from  just  yon- 
der, perhaps  ten  feet,  certainly  not  more  than 
twenty  feet  away;  felt  the  big  roan  plunge  under 
him,  race  on  unsteadily,  and  sink. 

He  slipped  out  of  the  saddle  as  the  horse  crashed 
down  in  the  bushes  at  the  side  of  the  road,  and  as 
he  did  so  emptied  his  revolver  into  the  shadows 
whence  had  come  the  rifle-shot.  But  he  knew 
that  he  was  a  fool  to  hope  to  hit;  the  man  had  had 
time  to  select  his  spot,  to  screen  his  own  body  with 
a  boulder  or  fallen  log,  to  leave  open  behind  him  a 
way  to  safety  and  darkness. 

129 


Man  to  Man 

"Not  Blenham  himself  but  one  of  his  crowd 
did  that,"  muttered  Packard  as  he  turned  back 
to  the  fallen  horse.  "Just  to  set  me  on  foot  again. 
He  isn't  up  to  murder  when  he  sees  another  way. 
And  for  ten  dollars  he  could  hire  one  of  his  hang- 
ers-on to  kill  a  horse." 

Well,  it  was  just  another  trick  for  Blenham. 
On  foot  now  he  must  make  what  time  he  could  to 
the  Pinchot  farm,  some  three  or  four  miles  further 
on,  demand  a  horse  there,  and  pray  that  Barbee 
was  equal  to  his  task.  But  first  he  must  not 
leave  the  big  roan  to  suffer  needlessly  and  hope- 
lessly. 

He  struck  a  match  and  made  a  flaring  torch  of 
a  little  wisp  of  dry  grass.  Loving  a  good  horse 
as  he  did,  he  felt  a  sudden  and  utterly  new  sort  of 
hatred  of  Blenham  go  rushing  along  his  blood. 
It  was  with  a  deep  sigh  of  relief  that  he  straight- 
ened up  when  he  saw  that  either  chance  or  a  re- 
markable skill  with  a  rifle  had  saved  Brocky  Lane's 
roan  from  any  protracted  pain. 

Packard  pushed  on,  seeking  to  make  what 
time  he  could,  breaking  into  a  jog-trot  time 
and  again  upon  a  down-slope,  conserving  wind  and 
strength  for  the  up-hill  climbs,  keeping  in  the 
shadows  for  the  most  part  but  taking  his  chances 
over  and  over  in  the  moonlit  open. 

Yet  it  was  being  borne  in  upon  him  that  it  was 
130 


A  Ride  with  Terry 

useless  to  hurry  now;  that  Blenham  had  made  of 
his  advantage  a  safe  lead;  that  he  might  as  well 
slow  down,  make  a  cigarette,  take  his  time.  And 
still,  being  the  sort  of  man  he  was,  he  kept  dog- 
gedly on,  telling  himself  that  a  race  is  anybody's 
race  until  the  tape  is  broken;  that  Blenham 
might  be  having  his  own  troubles  somewhere 
ahead;  that  quitting  did  no  good  and  that  it  is 
not  good  to  be  a  "quitter."  But  he  had  little 
enough  hope  of  coming  up  again  with  Blenham 
that  night. 

And  then,  when  he  had  been  on  foot  not  more 
than  twenty  minutes,  a  faint,  even,  drumming 
sound  swelling  steadily  through  the  night  some- 
where behind  him  put  a  new,  quick  stir  in  his 
blood.  He  stopped,  stood  almost  breathless  a 
moment,  listening. 

The  smooth  drumming  grew  louder;  suddenly 
topping  a  rise  the  two  headlights  of  an  automobile 
flashed  into  his  eyes.  Terry  Temple,  her  errand 
done  in  Red  Creek,  was  racing  homeward. 

"And  I'll  beat  Blenham  to  it  yet!"  cried 
Steve. 

Where  the  moonlight  streamed  brightest  and 
whitest  across  the  road  he  sprang  out  so  that  she 
could  not  fail  to  see  him,  tossing  up  both  arms  in 
signal  to  her  to  stop.  Her  headlights  blinded 
him  one  moment;  he  heard  the  warning  blast 


Man  to  Man 

of  her  horn;   he  entertained  briefly  the  suspicion 
that  she  was  going  to  refuse  to  stop. 

Incredible — and  yet  he  had  not  thought  of  her 
own  likely  emotions.  To  have  a  man  leap  out 
into  the  road  in  front  of  her,  all  unexpectedly,  wav- 
ing his  arms  and  calling  on  her  to  stop —  Why, 
she'd  think  herself  fallen  into  the  hands  of  a  high- 
wayman ! 

She  was  coming  on,  straight  on,  her  horn  emit- 
ting one  long,  sustained  shriek  of  menace.  Pack- 
ard ground  his  teeth;  either  she  did  not  recognize 
him  and  was  bound  upon  getting  by  him,  or  she 
did  recognize  him  and  was  accepting  her  oppor- 
tunity to  emphasize  her  attitude  toward  him. 

In  any  case  she  was  going  by,  she  in  whom  lay 
his  sole  hope  to  come  to  grips  with  Blenham. 
If  he  let  her  evade  he  might  as  well  quit,  quit 
in  utter  disgust  with  the  world. 

With  the  world  ?  Disgust  with  himself,  that 
he  had  let  Blenham  beat  him,  that  he  wasn't 
much  of  a  man,  that  his  old  grandfather  was 
right  about  him.  Her  car  was  rushing  down 
upon  him;  if  he  let  it  pass,  why,  he'd  be  letting, 
not  only  a  girl  laugh  at  him,  but  he'd  be  letting 
his  chance  rush  by  him.  His  chance  that  loomed 
up  bigger  than  the  oncoming  machine  and  more 
real;  his  chance  not  for  to-night  alone  but  for 
ever  after. 

132 


A  Ride  with  Terry 

For  if  Blenham  beat  him  to-night  and  his  grand- 
father beat  him  again  later  on,  he  knew  that  he 
would  pass  away  from  the  country  about  Ranch 
Number  Ten,  that  he  would  give  over  all  sustained 
effort  to  make  something  of  his  life,  that  he  would 
go  back  to  drifting,  rounding  out  his  days  after 
the  fashion  of  the  last  twelve  years.  It  was  while 
Terry's  car  was  speeding  toward  him  that  all  of 
this  ran  through  his  mind. 

There  was  the  possibility  that,  knowing  who 
he  was,  Terry  would  try  to  bluff  him  out  of  the 
road,  counting  confidently  upon  his  leaping  to 
safety  at  the  last  moment;  there  was  the  other 
possibility  that  she  mistook  his  motives  and  would 
run  him  down  in  a  sort  of  panic  of  self-defense. 

Packard,  with  his  rather  clear-cut  conception 
of  the  girl's  character  to  steer  by,  saw  the  one  way 
to  master  the  situation.  Whirling  about,  his  back 
to  her  now,  he  broke  into  a  run,  speeding  along  the 
road  in  front  of  her.  As  he  ran  the  hard  lines 
about  his  mouth  softened  into  a  rare  grin:  he'd 
have  her  guessing  for  a  minute,  anyway.  And 
by  the  time  she  got  through  guessing 

He  had  duplicated  his  feat  of  the  afternoon 
at  the  bridge  in  Red  Creek.  Terry,  in  her  first 
astonishment  that  the  man  should  turn  and  run 
straight  on  in  front  of  her,  slowed  down,  hesita- 
tion in  her  mind.  What  was  he  up  to  ?  Then 

133 


Man  to  Man 

there  came  sudden  shadows  in  a  narrow  part  of 
the  road,  a  sharp  turn,  the  absolute  necessity  of 
slowing  down  just  a  trifle  more,  and  then 

"It's  all  right;  go  ahead !"  called  Packard 
lightly.  He  was  standing  on  her  running-board. 

She  had  thrown  off  her  hat  to  the  cool  of  the 
evening.  As  they  passed  out  from  the  shadows 
he  could  see  her  eyes.  He  pushed  back  his  own 
hat  and  Terry  saw  his  eyes.  For  a  moment, 
while  the  car  sped  on,  neither  spoke. 

Looking  at  her  he  had  glimpsed  wonder,  an 
annoyance  that  was  swiftly  growing  into  anger, 
and  a  certain  assurance  that  Miss  Terry  Temple 
fully  intended  to  remember  this  day  and  to  square 
accounts  with  Stephen  Packard. 

Returning  his  look,  Terry  had  seen  but  one 
emotion  in  his  eyes:  pure  triumph.  She  could 
not  know  how  the  man  of  him,  having  but  just 
now  succeeded  in  this  first  task  he  had  set  him- 
self, felt  a  sudden  confidence  of  the  future. 

"If  I  had  let  you  go  by,"  said  Packard  quietly, 
"I  should  have  felt  that  I  had  let  my  destiny 
pass  me ! " 

"Don't  you  start  in  getting  fresh  just  because 
it's  moonlight !" 

Steve  looked  puzzled,  understood,  put  back 
his  head  and  laughed  joyously.  Then,  his  face 
suddenly  serious  again,  he  considered  her  specu- 

134 


A  Ride  with  Terry 

latirely.  Now  for  the  first  time  he  became  aware 
that  Terry  was  already  carrying  a  passenger.  A 
small  man,  Japanese,  immaculate,  and  frightened 
so  that  his  teeth  were  chattering. 

He  was  Iki,  who  had  come  into  Red  Creek  this 
evening  by  train  and  due  to  cook  for  the  Temple 
ranch.  Just  now  he  was  screwed  up  in  his  place, 
ready  to  jump  if  Steve  moved  his  way,  his  purse 
clutched  in  his  plump  hand,  half  offered  already. 
Steve  beamed  upon  him,  then  turned  his  eyes, 
still  speculative,  upon  Terry. 

"Do  you  care  to  tell  me,"  said  Terry  tartly, 
"why  you're  always  getting  in  my  way  ?  Think 
you're  smart,  climbing  aboard  like  a  monkey  ? 
You've  done  the  trick  twice;  do  I  have  to  look 
out  for  you  every  time  I  take  the  car  out  ?" 

"I  just  happen  to  be  in  a  hurry,"  said  Packard. 
"And  going  your  way.  Somebody  shot  my  horse 
back  there  for  me." 

Her  eyes  grew  actually  round;  Iki  shivered 
audibly.  But  in  the  girl's  case  the  emotion 
aroused  by  Packard's  words  was  short-lived.  Why 
should  a  man  shoot  the  horse  under  Steve  Pack- 
ard ?  Disbelief  reshaped  her  eyes;  she  cried  out 
at  him  as  her  foot  went  down  on  the  accelerator: 

"Think  I'm  the  kind  to  believe  all  the  yarns 
you  can  tell  ?  If  you  want  to  know  what  I  think, 
Stcrc  Packard — you're  a  liar!" 

135 


Man  to  Man 

He  laughed,  well  content  with  the  moment  and 
the  situation,  well  content  with  his  unwilling  com- 
panion just  as  she  was. 

"And  do  you  know  that  what  I  told  you  this 
afternoon  was  true?"  he  countered  cheerfully. 
"You're  just  like  my  blazing  old  Grandy!  In- 
stead of  being  my  grandfather  he  c  ught  to  be 
yours.  By  golly,  Miss  Terry  Pert,"  teasing  the 
blood  higher  into  her  cheeks  with  his  laughter, 
"that  might  be  arranged,  too!  Mightn't  it? 
You  and  I " 

"Oh!"  cried  Terry,  and  he  had  no  doubts 
about  her  meaning  what  she  said.  "Oh,  I  hate 
you!  Yes,  worse  than  I  hate  old  Hell-Fire:  he 
keeps  out  of  my  trail,  anyway.  And  you,  you 
big  bully,  you  woman-fighter,  you — you " 

Just  in  time  he  guessed  her  purpose  and  threw 
out  his  hand  across  her  steering-wheel  and  grasped 
her  right  hand.  The  car  swerved  dangerously  a 
moment,  then  came  back  to  its  steady  course  as 
Steve's  other  hand  closed  over  Terry's  left. 
Slowly,  putting  his  greater  strength  gently  against 
hers,  he  took  her  automatic  from  her. 

"Thirty-eight  calibre?"  he  said  coolly. 
"There's  nothing  little  about  your  way  of  doing 
things,  is  there  ?  And  you  meant  to  drill  a  hole 
through  me,  I'm  bound !" 

Terry's  face  gleamed  white  in  the  pale  light; 
136 


A  Ride  with  Terry 

and  he  knew  from  the  look  in  her  eyes  as  they 
seemed  fairly  to  clash  with  his,  that  it  was  the 
white  of  sheer  rage. 

"I'd  just  as  lief  blow  your  head  off  as  shoot  a 
rattlesnake,"  she  announced  crisply. 

"I  believe  you,"  he  grunted.  "Just  the  same, 
if  you'd  only " 

"Oh,  shut  up  !"  she  cried,  shaking  his  hand  free 
from  hers  on  the  wheel  and  driving  on  recklessly. 

"I  would  like  to  mention,"  came  an  uncertain 
voice  from  a  very  pale  Japanese,  "that  I  must 
walk  on  my  feet.  I  am  most  regretful 

"Oh,  shut  up  !"  cried  Terry.     "Shut  up  !" 

And  for  the  rest  of  the  ride  both  Iki  and  Steve 
Packard  were  silent. 


137 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE    TEMPTING    OF   YELLOW    BARBEE 

"TTERE'S  where  I  get  down,"  said  Steve  after 

JL  X  a  very  long  silence  during  which  he  watched 
Terry's  pretty,  puckered  face  while  Terry,  grip- 
ping her  wheel,  recklessly  assumed  the  responsi- 
bilities of  their  three  lives,  hurling  the  car  on 
through  the  moonlit  night. 

Iki,  breathing  every  now  and  then  a  long  quiver- 
ing sigh  and  forgetting  to  breathe  betweenwhiles, 
held  on  tightly  with  both  hands. 

"Here's  where  I  get  down,"  said  Steve  again. 

Here  the  road  followed  the  line  of  his  north 
fence;  less  than  a  mile  to  the  southward  he  could 
see  a  light  like  a  fallen  star,  gleaming  cheerfully 
through  the  trees. 

He  sensed  rather  than  saw  a  quick  stiffening 
of  Terry's  already  tense  little  body;  fancied  that 
the  car  was  steadily  taking  on  greater  speed, 
read  Terry's  purpose  in  a  flash.  If  he  forced  her 
to  carry  him,  why  then  she  would  take  him  as 
far  out  of  his  way  as  possible. 

"Terry  Temple!"  he  cried  sharply,  leaning  in 
a  little  toward  her.  "What's  the  matter  with 

138 


The  Tempting  of  Yellow  Barbee 

you  anyway  ?  What  if  we're  not  friends  exactly  ? 
I  never  did  you  any  harm,  did  I  ?  Why,  good 
Lord,  girl,  when  a  man  tells  you  his  horse  has  been 
shot  under  him;  when  he  is  trying  to  overhaul 
the  crook  at  the  bottom  of  the  whole  mess  whom 
you  hate  as  well  as  I  do —  Oh,  I  mean  Blenham 
and  you  know  it " 

"Liar!"  cried  Terry,  flashing  her  eyes  at  him, 
and  back  to  the  road  alternately  white  with  the 
moon  and  black  with  shadows.  "Liar  on  two 
counts !  Didn't  I  see  your  horse  this  afternoon  ? 
Tied  in  front  of  Wimble's  whiskey  joint  ?  Oh,  it's 
where  I'd  expect  him !  Well — and  you  needn't 
think  I  looked  to  see  or  cared,  either — when  I 
came  by  just  now,  leaving  town,  I  saw  your  horse 
standing  there  yet.  So  you  needn't " 

"That  couldn't  be,"  muttered  Steve.  "And 
yet —  Anyhow,  I've  got  to  get  off  here.  Will 
you  stop,  please?" 

"No,  I  won't  stop  please!  Nobody  asked  you 
to  ride  that  I  know  of.  Get  off  the  same  way  you 
got  on !" 

Packard  realized  two  things  very  clearly  then: 
If  he  jumped  with  the  car  going  at  its  present 
speed  he  would  probably  break  his  neck;  if  he 
gave  any  considerable  time  to  arguing  the  matter 
with  her  he  would  be  carried  as  far  in  five  minutes 
as  he  could  walk  in  an  hour. 

139 


Man  to  Man 

"I  mean  business  to-night,"  he  told  her  bluntly. 
"If  you  don't  slow  down  before  I  count  ten  I  am 
going  to  lean  out  a  little — like  this — and  shoot  a 
hole  in  your  tire.  Then,  if  you  keep  on,  Pll  shoot 
a  hole  in  the  other  tire.  Understand  ?" 

Terry  laughed  mockingly. 

"You  wouldn't  dare!"  she  told  him  serenely. 
"That  would  be  some  kind  of  a  crime;  they  could 
put  you  in  jail  for  it.  You'd  be  scared  to." 

"One,  two,  three,  four,  five,"  he  counted  briskly. 

"I  would  seek  to  interrupt  to  advise,  oh,  Miss 
Lady!"  chattered  Iki.  "His  voice  has  the  sound 
of  bloodthirstiness." 

"Six,  seven,  eight,  nine — ten,"  counted  Pack- 
ard. 

Terry  sniffed.  He  leaned  out,  she  saw  the  glint 
of  the  moon  upon  his  revolver. 

She  threw  out  her  clutch  and  jammed  down 
both  brakes,  hard.  Steve  swung  out  and  down 
to  the  ground.  The  car,  as  though  it  had  gained 
fresh  power  from  the  fact  of  being  freed  of  his 
weight,  shot  forward,  stopped  again. 

"Not  exactly  friends?"  cried  Terry,  and  he 
marked  a  new  trembling  in  her  voice.  "I  should 
say  not.  You — you  darned  snake,  you!" 

And  she  was  gone,  spinning  along  into  the  night, 
hidden  from  him  by  the  first  hill  around  whose 
base  the  road  curved.  He  stared  after  her  a 

140 


The  Tempting  of  Yellow  Barbee 

moment,  shrugged,  turned  his  back,  and  strode 
rapidly  toward  the  Ranch  Number  Ten  cor- 
rals. 

He  had  planned  correctly;  he  had  correctly 
measured  Blenham's  impulses  and  desires.  Fur- 
ther, he  had  come  in  time,  just  in  time. 

The  light  was  in  the  ranch-house.  Though  but 
little  after  eleven  o'clock  it  was  dark  within  the 
bunk-house,  the  men  long  ago  asleep.  But  Bar- 
bee  was  awake,  his  wits  about  him;  his  voice  and 
Blenham's,  both  quiet,  met  Steve's  ears  as  he 
slipped  about  the  corner  of  the  house,  coming 
under  the  window  where  the  light  was. 

Blenham  was  talking  now.  He  sat  loosely  in 
a  chair,  his  hands  one  upon  the  other,  idle  in  his 
lap.  Barbee,  his  eyes  narrowed  and  watchful, 
stood  at  the  far  side  of  the  room.  On  the  floor, 
near  his  feet,  was  a  revolver;  from  its  position 
Steve  guessed  that  Barbee  had  just  kicked  it 
safely  out  of  Blenham's  reach.  Barbee's  own  gun 
was  in  the  boy's  hand. 

"You're  a  pretty  foxy  kid,  Barbee,"  Blenham 
was  saying  tonelessly.  "You  got  the  drop  on 
me;  you're  the  firs'  man  as  ever  did  that  little 
trick.  Yes;  you're  a  pretty  foxy  kid!" 

Barbee  shrugged  and  spat  and  answered  Blen- 
ham with  a  curse  and  a  grunted: 

"Nobody's  askin'  your  opinion,  Blenham." 
141 


Man  to  Man 

But  Steve  saw  and  Blenham  must  have  seen 
the  gleam  of  triumph  in  Barbee's  eye. 

"What  are  you  goin'  to  do  with  me?"  asked 
Blenham  presently. 

"Nothin',"  replied  Barbee.  "Jus*  keep  you 
where  I  got  you  until  Steve  Packard  comes  back. 
Which  ought  to  be  mos'  any  time  now." 

"He'll  be  late,"  said  Blenham.  "He  won't 
be  here  for  two  or  three  hours.  Suppose  while 
we  wait,  let's  me  an'  you  talk!"  he  said  sharply, 
sitting  forward  in  his  chair. 

"Well?"  said  Barbee.  "Talk  an'  be  damned 
to  you,  Blenham.  Only  you  don't  talk  yourself 
out'n  the  hole  you're  in  right  now.  An',  I  promise 
you,  you  make  a  quick  jump  for  a  get-away,  an' 
I'll  shoot  you  dead." 

"I  know,"  Blenham  nodded.  "You'd  do  it. 
But  I  ain't  goin'  to  try  any  fool  thing  like  that. 
I'm  jus'  goin' —  Like  I  said  to  you,  let's  talk. 
What's  Packard  payin'  you  for  this  night's 
work?" 

"He's  no  tightwad,  if  that's  what  you're  drivin' 
at.  I'd  of  done  to-night's  job  an'  glad  of  the  chance 
an'  you  know  it,  Blenham,  an'  never  asked  pay 
for  it.  But  I'm  drawin'  down  a  whole  month's 
pay  extra,  if  I've  got  you  like  you  are  when  he 


comes  in." 


Blenham  laughed  softly.    Then  he  moved  the 
142 


The  Tempting  of  Yellow  Barbee 

hands  resting  in  his  lap.  Packard  saw  that  they 
were  folded  loosely  about  an  old  leather  wallet. 

"He's  sure  payin'  you  generous,  Barbee," 
jeered  Blenham.  "You  know  it !  Why,  look 
here:  This  is  yours  an'  more  to  trail  it  if  you  jus' 
pocket  your  gun  an'  let  me  go!  I  ain't  askin* 
much  an'  I'm  payin'  my  way.  Look  it  over,  kid !" 

Packard  saw  how  he  stripped  a  bank-note  from 
a  thin  sheaf  of  its  fellows;  how  he  tossed  it  toward 
Barbee.  It  fell  to  the  floor;  a  little  draft  set  it 
drifting;  Blenham  set  his  foot  upon  it. 

"Look  at  it!"  he  snapped,  for  the  first  time 
giving  sign  of  the  strain  he  was  laboring  under. 
"It's  yours — if  you  ain't  a  fool." 

Barbee,  not  to  be  tricked  were  this  some  ruse 
to  snare  his  attention,  said  crisply: 

"Put  you'  han's  up  while  I  get  it !" 

Blenham  obeyed;  Barbee  stooped  swiftly,  all 
the  while  with  eyes  riveted  on  his  prisoner. 
Then,  the  muzzle  of  his  gun  raised  another  inch, 
he  looked  at  what  he  held.  When  he  looked 
back  at  Blenham  his  eyes  were  round,  his  mouth 
stood  a  little  open. 

"My  God!"  he  gasped.  "It's  a  thousan' 
dollars!" 

"Yes,"  said  Blenham  quietly.  "It's  a  thou- 
san' dollars.  That's  quite  a  little  wad,  Barbee; 
it's  more,  anyhow,  than  an  extra  month's  wages, 

H3 


Man  to  Man 

ain't  it  ?  An'  it's  yours  if  you  want  it !  Think 
of  the  times  you  can  go  on,  think  of  the  way  you 
could  make  Red  Creek  open  its  eyes  !  An'  there's 
more  to  come  if  you  take  that  an'  let  me  go  an' 
jus'  watch  my  play  an'  take  a  chance  with  me 
when  I  say  so.  What's  the  word,  Barbee?" 

Packard,  having  held  back  thus  long,  remained 
motionless,  glimpsing  unexpectedly  something  of 
Barbee's  soul;  watching  a  little  human  drama, 
become  spectator  to  the  battle  royal  of  the 
two  contending  factions  which  made  up  a  man's 
self. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  young  Barbee  was  pale 
and  grew  paler;  that  a  shiver  ran  through  him; 
that  he  was,  for  the  moment,  like  one  drugged. 
And,  side  by  side,  two  emotions,  both  primal 
and  unmistakable,  peered  out  of  his  eyes:  a 
savage  hatred  of  Blenham,  a  leaping  greed  of  gold. 

Thus  for  a  little  forgetting  his  own  interest  in 
this  scene,  Packard  watched,  wondering  what  the 
outcome  would  be.  Blenham  tempted.  Barbee 
hesitated. 

"Right  here  in  my  hand,"  Blenham  was  saying 
coldly,  "are  nine  more  like  that,  Barbee.  Ten 
thousan'  dollars  in  all.  One  thousan'  to  go  to 
you  for  jus'  keepin'  out  of  my  way.  I  said  once 
you're  a  foxy  kid.  Now  let's  see  if  you  are.  Tie 
to  a  man  like  me  that's  out  to  make  a  pile,  a  damn 

144 


The  Tempting  of  Yellow  Barbee 

big  pile,  Barbee — or  hang  to  a  fool  like  Steve 
Packard  an*  take  his  pay  in  dribbles  an*  let  him 
be  the  one  that  gathers  in  all  the  big  kale.  Him 
an'  me  when  I  get  things  goin'  right;  him  an'  me 
with  you  jus'  gettin'  the  scraps.  Which  is  it  ? 
Eh,  kid  ?  Which  way 're  you  goin'  ?" 

Barbee  held  the  bank-note  in  his  left  hand; 
slowly  his  calloused  fingers  closed  tightly  about  it, 
crumpling  it,  clutching  it  as  though  they  would 
never  release  it.  And  then  slowly  the  fingers 
opened  so  that  the  wrinkled  bit  of  paper  lay  in 
his  palm  under  his  eyes.  Barbee  ran  his  tongue 
back  and  forth  between  his  dry  lips.  Steve, 
staring  in  at  him  through  the  window,  saw  in  his 
eyes  the  two  lights,  that  of  hate,  that  of  covetous- 
ness;  they  burned  side  by  side  as  a  yellow  candle 
and  a  red  might  have  done. 

Which  way  would  Barbee  go  ?  Did  Barbee 
know?  Blenham  did  not;  Steve  did  not.  Sud- 
denly, seeing  how  the  two  fires  flickered  in  Bar- 
bee's  eyes,  Steve  cried  out  within  himself: 

"It's  unfair!  It's  asking  too  much  of  Bar- 
bee!" 

And  aloud,  shoving  the  nose  of  a  Colt  .45 
through  the  window-pane  which  splintered  noisily: 

"Hands  up  there,  Blenham!  Good  boy,  Bar- 
bee.  You've  got  him,  all  right!  Watch  him 
while  I  slip  in." 

145 


Man  to  Man 

Blenham  jumped  to  his  feet,  threw  out  his  arms, 
and  cursed  savagely.  Then,  grown  abruptly 
quiet,  he  dropped  back  into  his  chair,  his  two 
big  hands  loose  about  the  wallet  hidden  under 
them.  Steve  threw  a  leg  over  the  window-sill 
and  came  in,  his  gun  ready,  his  eyes  taking  stock 
of  Barbee  while  they  appeared  to  be  for  Blenham 
only.  And  Barbee,  white  now  as  he  had  never 
been  until  now,  shivered,  filled  his  lungs  with  a 
long  sigh,  and  fell  back  a  couple  of  paces,  staring 
at  Steve,  at  Blenham,  but  most  of  all  at  the  thing 
in  his  hand. 

"You  put  it  across,  Barbee!"  cried  Steve 
heartily. 

He  reached  forward  and  snatched  the  wallet 
from  Blenham's  knee.  Blenham's  big  hands, 
clenching  slowly,  fell  to  his  sides;  Blenham's 
eyes,  sullen  and  evil,  clung  steadily  to  Packard's. 

"You've  saved  me  my  inheritance  to-night; 
you've  helped  save  me  my  ranch.  You've  helped 
me  square  the  game  with  a  dirty  dog  named  Blen- 
ham!" 

Like  a  dog  Blenham  showed  his  teeth.  His 
drawn  face  was  stamped  in  the  image  of  fury. 

"You're  a  sweet  picture  of  a  dead  game  sport," 
he  growled,  shifting  nervously  in  his  chair.  "I 
ain't  got  a  gun;  you  an'  Barbee  have;  go  ahead 
an'  call  me  all  the  names  you  like !" 

146 


The  Tempting  of  Yellow  Barbee 

Steve  counted  the  bank-notes  in  the  wallet. 
Blenham  had  spoken  truly;  there  were  nine  one- 
thousand-dollar  bills.  He  put  out  his  hand  to 
Barbee  for  the  tenth.  Barbee,  staring  strangely 
like  one  rudely  awakened  from  sleep  and  not  yet 
certain  of  his  surroundings,  let  the  bank-note  go. 
His  eyes,  leaving  it  at  last  to  rest  steadily  on  Blen- 
ham, looked  red  and  ugly.  Packard  slipped  the 
wallet  into  his  shirt. 

"Barbee,"  he  said  quietly,  while  he  busied  his 
eyes  with  Blen>  am's  slightest  movement,  "this 
money  was  left  to  me  by  my  father.  He  gave  it 
to  Bill  Royce  to  keep  for  me.  You  know  all  that 
Bill  has  stood  from  Blenham;  now  you  know  why. 
There's  quite  a  load  of  scoundrelism  dumped  off 
at  Blenham's  door.  And,  thanks  to  you,  we've 
got  the  dead  wood  on  him  at  last  I" 

"What  are  you  goin'  to  do  with  him  ?"  Barbee, 
speaking  for  the  first  time  since  Steve's  entrance, 
was  husky-voiced.  Blenham  shifted  again  in  his 
chair;  now  there  was  only  cold  hatred  in  the  boy's 
look.  "We'd  ought  to  be  able  to  put  him  in  the 
pen  for  a  good  long  time." 

Blenham  laughed  jeeringly. 

"Try  it!"  he  blustered.  "See  what  you  can 
prove,  actually  prove  to  a  jury  an'  a  judge! 
Try  it !  You  go  to  the  law  an'  see ' 

"To  hell  with  the  law!"  cut  in  Steve,   and 


Man  to  Man 

though  his  voice  was  not  lifted  for  the  impreca- 
tion Blenham  shot  a  quick,  startled  look  at  him. 

And  both  Blenham  and  Barbee,  listening  won- 
deringly,  understood  that  here  was  a  Packard 
talking;  that  in  the  shoes  of  the  grandson,  even 
now,  there  might  be  standing  the  big  bulk  of  the 
uncompromising  grandfather. 

"What  do  I  want  with  the  law  now?  Blen- 
ham would  wriggle  out,  I  suppose;  or  he  would 
get  a  light  sentence  and  trim  that  down  to  noth- 
ing with  good  behavior.  No,  Blenham,  if  you  ever 
go  to  jail  it  will  be  somebody's  else  doing;  not 
mine.  Is  it  just  jail  for  the  man  who  shot  down 
my  old  pardner  in  cold  blood,  just  for  the  sake  of 
a  handful  of  money  ?  Is  it  to  be  just  jail  for  the 
man  who  has  made  Bill  Royce's  life  a  hell  for  six 
months  ?  Just  jail  for  the  brute  who  had  a  horse 
shot  under  me  to-night?  Why,  damn  you — " 
and  at  last  his  voice  broke  through  the  ice  of  re- 
straint and  rang  out  angrily,  full  of  menace — "do 
you  think  I'm  going  to  let  you  go  out  of  my  hands 
into  the  hands  of  judge  and  jury  after  all  you've 
done?" 

Blenham  sprang  up,  drawing  back.  The  muz- 
zle of  Steve's  .45  followed  him  threateningly. 

"Barbee,"  said  Packard,  his  voice  once  more 
under  control,  "go  to  the  bunk-house  and  send 
Bill  Royce  here.  Don't  wake  the  other  boys. 

148 


The  Tempting  of  Yellow  Barbee 

Then  you  come  back  here  with  him.  And  bring 
a  whip  with  you." 

"A  whip?"  repeated  Barbee. 

"Yes;  a  whip.  Any  kind  you  can  lay  your 
hands  to  in  a  hurry;  quirt  or  buggy-whip  or  bull- 
whip!" 

Blenham  watched  Barbee  go.  Then,  drawn 
back  into  a  corner  of  the  room,  sullen  and  vigilant, 
he  stood  biting  nervously  at  a  big,  clenched,  hairy 
fist. 


149 


CHAPTER  XII 

IN    A    DARK    ROOM 

BILL  ROYCE,  hastily  and  but  half  dressed, 
came  promptly  to  the  house,  stumbling  along 
at    Barbee's    heels.     Blenham,    his    silence    and 
watchfulness  unbroken,  still  chewed  at  his  fist. 
Barbee  brought  a  heavy  blacksnake  in  his  hand. 

"Barbee  says  you  want  me,  Steve  ?"  said  Royce 
from  the  threshold.  "An*  that  Blenham's  here  ?" 

"Yes,  Bill,"  Steve  answered.  And  to  Barbee, 
"Close  the  door  behind  you.  Lock  it.  Give  me 
the  key.  Now  fasten  the  shutters  across  both 
windows." 

Barbee  obeyed  silently.  Blenham's  eyes  fol- 
lowed him,  seeming  fascinated  by  the  whip  in  Bar- 
bee's  hand. 

"Listen  a  minute,  Bill,"  said  Steve  when  Barbee 
had  done.  "I  want  to  tell  you  something." 

And,  as  briefly  as  might  be,  he  told  Royce  of 
the  ten  dollar  bills  substituted  for  the  real  legacy, 
of  the  results  of  his  evening  in  Red  Creek,  of  Bar- 
bee's  trapping  Blenham,  of  the  recovery  of  the  ten 
thousand  dollars,  of  a  horse  shot  dead  on  the  Red 
Creek  road. 

150 


In  a  Dark  Room 

"Then,"  said  Royce  at  the  end  of  it,  his  mind 
catching  eagerly  one  outstanding  fact,  "I  was 
right,  Steve  ?  An'  it  was  Blenham  as  gave  me 
both  barrels  of  Johnny  Mills's  shot-gun  ?  It  was 
Blenham  for  sure,  wasn't  it,  Steve?" 

"Yes,  Bill.     It  was  Blenham." 

"An' — an'  Blenham's  right  across  there  now  ? 
It's  him  I  can  hear  breathin',  Steve?" 

"Yes,  Bill." 

"An' — an'  what  for  did  you  sen'  for  me,  Steve  ? 
What  are  you  goin'  to  do  to  him  ?" 

Packard  beckoned  to  Barbee.  The  boy  came 
quickly  to  his  side,  giving  him  the  blacksnake. 
Steve  laid  it  across  Bill  Royce's  hand. 

"I'm  going  to  give  him  a  taste  of  that,  Bill," 
he  said.  "And  I  wanted  you  here.  You  can't 
see  it;  but  before  I  am  through  with  him,  you 
can  hear  it!" 

"Goin'  to  tie  him  up  an'  whip  him,  Steve  ? 
That  it?" 

"Pack  of  low-bred  mongrel  pups!"  cried  Blen- 
ham wrathfully,  for  the  first  time  breaking  his 
silence.  "Sneakin',  low-lived  curs  an'  cowards!" 

"That  it,  Steve  ?"  persisted  Royce.  "Coin*  to 
tie  him  up  an'  give  him  a  whippin*  with  a  black- 
snake?" 

"I  am  going  to  whip  him — for  your  sake,  Bill," 
answered  Steve  sternly. 


Man  to  Man 

He  threw  off  his  coat,  tossing  it  behind  him. 

"Get  the  chairs  and  table  out  of  the  way,  Bar- 
bee!  No,  I  am  not  going  to  tie  him  up;  that 
isn't  necessary,  Bill.  I  can  handle  him  with  my 
hands  without  tying  him;  I  am  going  to  do  it. 
And  then  I  am  going  to  take  the  whip  and  lay 
it  across  him  until  his  hide  is  in  strips — or  until 
he  begs  to  be  let  go.  Ready,  Blenham?" 

"Mean  that?"  snarled  Blenham,  a  new  look 
in  his  eye.  "Mean  you're  goin'  to  give  me  an 
even  break  ?" 

But  Bill  Royce,  fairly  trembling  with  an  eager- 
ness strange  to  him,  had  clutched  at  Steve's  arm, 
had  found  it,  was  holding  him  back,  crying  out 
excitedly : 

"You're  a  good  pal,  Stevie;  you're  the  best  pal 
as  ever  was  an'  I  know  it !  Didn't  I  always  know 
you'd  be  like  this  ?  But  can't  you  see,  Stevie, 
can't  you  see  it  ain't  enough  another  man  should 
lick  him,  even  when  that  man's  my  pardner,  even 
when  it's  Stevie  himself  doin'  it !  Ain't  I  been 
waitin'  an'  waitin'  to  get  my  hands  on  him !" 

Blenham,  a  little  comforted  by  Steve's  words, 
jeered  openly  now. 

"Come  on,  Blind  Billy,"  he  taunted.  "An' 
when  I've  throwed  you  into  the  junk  pile  I'll  take 
on  your  friends !  One  at  the  time — you  know 
how  the  sayin'  goes  !" 

152 


In  a  Dark  Room 

Steve  was  shaking  Royce's  hand  from  his 
arm. 

"Let  me  do  this  for  you,  Bill,"  he  said  firmly. 
"It's  only  fair.  If  you  could  see,  it  would  be 
different." 

But  Royce  clung  on  desperately,  crying  out 
insistently : 

"Blind  as  I  am  I  can  lick  him!  I  know  I 
can  lick  him !  Ain't  I  done  it  in  my  sleep  a 
dozen  times,  a  dozen  ways  ?  Ain't  I  always 
promised  myself  sometime  I'd  get  him  in  my 
two  hands,  I'd  feel  him  wriggle  an'  squirm  ?  This 
is  my  fight,  Steve,  an' — Blenham,  where  are 
you?" 

"Here !"  cried  Blenham.  "An'  gettin'  tired  of 
waitin'!" 

Royce  plunged  toward  him.  But  Steve  Pack- 
ard caught  his  old  friend  about  the  body,  holding 
him  back  a  moment. 

"Easy,  Bill,"  he  said  gently.  "Easy.  I  was 
wrong,  you  are  right.  It's  your  fight.  But  take 
your  time.  Get  your  coat  off.  Barbee,  stand  by 
that  window  there;  if  Blenham  tries  to  get  out 
stop  him.  I'll  stand  here.  All  ready,  Bill  ?" 

"Ready!"  cried  Royce,  his  voice  a  roar  of 
eagerness. 

"All  ready,  Blenham?" 

'Ain't  I  said  it  ?"  jeered  Blenham. 

153 


Man  to  Man 

"Then — "  and  suddenly  Steve  had  snatched 
up  the  lamp,  blowing  down  the  chimney  and  plung- 
ing the  room  into  thick  darkness — "go  to  it ! 
The  light  is  out,  Bill !  The  room  is  pitch-black. 
You're  as  well  off  as  he  is.  And  now,  old  pardner. 
Now!" 

It  was  suddenly  very  still  in  the  room;  the 
thick,  impenetrable  darkness  seemed  almost  a 
palpable  curtain  screening  what  went  forward; 
the  silence  was  for  a  little  literally  breathless. 

Then  there  came  the  first  faint,  tell-tale  sound, 
the  slow,  tortured  creaking  of  a  board  as  a  man 
put  his  weight  upon  it.  Through  the  darkness, 
across  the  room,  Bill  Royce  was  going  slowly, 
questing  the  man  who,  surprised  by  the  action  of 
Steve's  which  had  reduced  his  advantage  over  a 
blind  man,  held  to  his  corner.  And  then,  stranger 
sound  still  through  that  tense  silence,  came  Bill 
Royce's  low  laugh. 

"Good  boy,  Steve,"  he  said  softly.  "I'd  never 
thought  of  that !  In  the  dark  Blenham's  as  blind 
as  me !  How  do  you  like  it,  Blenham  ?  How'd 
you  like  to  have  it  this  way  all  the  time  ?" 

Blenham's  only  answer  lay  in  his  leaping  for- 
ward, out  from  his  corner,  and  striking;  Royce's 
answer  to  that  was  another  quiet  laugh.  He  had 
slipped  aside;  Blenham  had  flailed  at  the  thin 
air;  Royce,  grown  still  again,  knew  one  of  the 

154 


In  a  Dark  Room 

moments  of  sheer  joy  which  had  been  his  during 
these  last  weary  months. 

Packard  and  Barbee,  frowning  unavailingly 
toward  each  little  noise,  could  only  guess  at  what 
went  forward  so  few  inches  from  them.  A  scrap- 
ing foot  might  be  either  Royce's  or  Blenham's; 
a  long,  deep  sigh  or  quick  breathing  now  here, 
now  there,  might  emanate  from  either  man. 
The  strange  thing,  thought  both  Barbee  and 
Packard,  was  that  even  ten  seconds  could  pass 
without  these  two  men  at  each  other's  throats. 

But,  a  supreme  moment  his  at  last,  Bill  Royce 
found  himself  grown  miserly  in  its  expenditure; 
he  would  dribble  the  golden  seconds  through  his 
fingers,  he  would  draw  out  the  experience,  tasting 
its  joy  fully. 

For  the  moment  his  blindness  was  no  greater 
than  Blenham's;  for  a  little  Blenham  would 
grope  and  wonder  and  hesitate  and  grow  tense 
after  the  fashion  the  blind  man  knew  so  well. 
And  then  at  the  end,  when  an  end  could  no  longer 
be  delayed,  Bill  Royce  would  mete  out  the  long- 
delayed  punishment. 

But,  since  the  natures  of  both  men  were  down- 
right, since  their  hatreds  were  outright,  since  there 
was  little  of  finesse  in  either  and  a  great  impa- 
tience stirring  both,  Royce's  playing  with  Blen- 
ham was  short. 

155 


Man  to  Man 

There  came  a  sudden  shuffling  of  feet — and 
Royce's  laugh;  a  blow  landing  heavily — and 
Royce's  laugh;  another  blow,  a  grunt,  and  a 
panted  curse  from  Blenham — and  Royce's  laugh. 

And  then  only  a  scraping  of  feet  up  and  down, 
back  and  forth  along  the  bare  floor,  the  thudding 
of  heavy  shoulders  into  an  unexpected  wall, 
the  impact  of  fist  against  body.  In  the  utter  dark- 
ness the  two  men  gripped  each  other,  struck, 
swayed  together,  staggered  apart,  only  to  come 
together  again  to  strike  harder,  more  merciless 
blows. 

Packard  and  Barbee  now  held  their  breaths 
while  the  others  panted  freely;  both  Packard  and 
Barbee,  stepping  quickly  now  this  way  and  now 
that  as  the  battling  forms  swayed  up  and  down, 
sought  to  gauge  what  was  happening  by  the  sounds 
which  came  to  their  ears. 

Muttered  imprecations,  scuffling  feet  in  a  rude 
dance  of  rage,  another  heavy,  thudding  blow,  a 
coughing  curse.  Whose  ?  Blenham's,  since  after 
it  came  Bill  Royce's  laugh.  Another  blow,  fresh 
pounding  and  scraping  of  boots — blow  on  top  of 
blow,  curse  on  top  of  curse — a  man  falling 
heavily 

Who  was  down  ?     Royce  or  Blenham  ? 

"Bill !"  called  Packard.     "Bill !" 

No  answer  save  that  of  two  big  bodies  rolling 

156 


In  a  Dark  Room 

together  on  the  floor.  Both  were  down,  Royce 
and  Blenham.  Both  were  fighting,  wordless  and 
infuriated.  Who  was  on  top  ? 

No  man  on  top  long,  no  man  under  the  other 
more  than  a  second.  The  rolling  bodies  struck 
against  Packard's  leg  and  he  drew  back,  giving 
them  room.  The  dust  puffing  up  from  the  floor 
filled  his  nostrils.  The  room  was  becoming  un- 
endurably  close,  sickeningly  close.  The  sweat 
must  be  streaming  from  both  men  by  now.  Pack- 
ard sniffed,  fancying  the  acrid  smell  of  fresh  blood. 
The  big  bulks  rolled  and  threshed  and  whipped 
here  and  there 

"Hell!" 

It  was  a  cry  of  mingled  rage  and  pain;  it 
came  bursting  explosively  from  Blenham's  lips. 
Royce 's  laugh  followed  it;  Packard  shivered. 

"Bill!  "he  cried.     "Bill!" 

Royce  did  not  answer;  perhaps  for  the  very 
good  reason  that  he  did  not  hear.  There  were 
other  matters  now  engaging  his  attention  solely 
and  exclusively.  The  fighting  fury,  the  hate 
frenzy  was  riding  him  and  he  in  turn  was  riding 
his  enemy.  Cool  sanity  and  hot  blood-lust  do 
not  find  places  side  by  side  in  the  same  brain. 
A  second  time  came  the  horrible  cry  from  Blen- 
ham. Packard  struck  a  match  hastily  and 
lighted  the  lamp. 

157 


Man  to  Man 

Packard  and  Barbee  together  dragged  Royce 
away,  letting  Blenham  lie  there.  Both  men 
were  naked  to  their  waists,  their  shirts  and  under- 
shirts in  rags  and  strips  hanging  grotesquely  about 
their  hips;  Royce  looked  like  some  hideously 
painted  burlesque  of  a  ballet-dancer  in  a  comic 
skirt.  Only  there  was  nothing  of  burlesque  or 
comedy  in  his  face. 

Packard,  glancing  from  him  down  to  the  tor- 
tured body  of  Blenham  that  breathed  jerkily, 
noisily,  turned  with  a  sudden  revulsion  of  feeling 
and  hurled  the  heavy  blacksnake  away  from  him. 
He  had  not  fancied  the  sharp  smell  of  fresh  blood. 

"I  got  him!"  said  Royce  shakily.  "With  my 
two  hands,  I  got  him  !  Didn't  I,  Stevie  ?" 

"Better  than  you  know,  Bill !"  muttered  Pack- 
ard. "Better  than  you  know." 

The  thing  had  been  an  accident,  at  least  in  so 
far  as  Bill  Royce's  intent  was  concerned.  Pack- 
ard knew  that;  he  knew  that  his  old  pardner 
fought  hard,  fought  mercilessly,  but  fought  fair. 
But  in  a  larger  sense  was  it  an  accident  ?  Or 
rather  a  mere  retributive  punishment  decreed  by 
an  eternal  justice  ?  There  in  the  pitch  dark,  for 
no  man  to  see  the  how  of  it,  this  is  perhaps  what 
had  happened: 

There  had  been  the  old,  long-rowelled  Mexican 
spur  hanging  on  the  wall;  Royce's  shoulder  or 

158 


In  a  Dark  Room 

Blenham's  had  knocked  it  down;  their  feet 
had  pushed  it  out  to  the  middle  of  the  floor. 
They  had  fallen,  together,  heavily;  they  had 
rolled.  Blenham  had  gone  over  on  his  face, 

Royce's  hands  worrying  him.     The  spur 

But  it  mattered  little  how  it  had  come  about. 
The  result  was  the  thing.  Blenham  would  never 
see  with  his  right  eye  again. 


159 


CHAPTER  XIII 

AT  THE    LUMBER   CAMP 

THEY  did  what  they  could  for  Blenham — 
which  was  but  little — and  let  him  go  when 
he  was  ready.  Before  daylight  he  had  ridden 
away,  dead  white,  sick-looking,  and  wordless  save 
for  his  parting  words  in  a  strangely  quiet  voice — 

"I'll  get  all  three  of  you  for  this,  s'elp  me  !" 

They  had  bound  his  head  up  in  a  strip  torn  from 
an  old  sheet;  the  last  they  saw  of  him  in  the  un- 
certain light  was  this  bandage,  rising  and  falling 
slowly  as  his  horse  bore  him  away. 

Blenham  gone,  Barbee  and  Bill  Royce  went 
down  to  the  bunk-house  again,  slipping  in  quietly. 
Steve  Packard,  alone  in  the  ranch-house,  sat  smok- 
ing his  pipe  for  half  an  hour.  Then  he  went  to 
bed,  the  bank-notes  still  in  his  shirt,  his  gun  under 
his  pillow. 

Twice  last  night  he  had  said  to  Joe  Woods,  the 
lumber-camp  boss,  "I'll  see  you  in  the  morning." 

Morning  come,  Steve  breakfasted  early,  saddled 
his  horse,  and  turned  out  across  the  fields  to  meet 
the  rising  sun.  And  it  seemed  to  his  fancies,  set 
a-tingle  in  the  early  dawn  freshness,  that  the  rising 

160 


At  the  Lumber  Camp 

sun,  ancient  symbol  of  youth  and  vigor  and  hope 
with  triumph's  wings,  was  coming  to  meet  him. 

At  this  period  of  the  day,  especially  when  he 
rides  and  is  alone  and  the  forests  thicken  all  about 
him,  man  is  prone  to  confidence.  It  had  been  a 
simple  matter,  so  he  looked  upon  it  now,  to  have 
discovered  the  truth  of  the  substituted  bills  last 
night;  as  simple  a  matter  had  been  his  winning  at 
seven-and-a-half  or  his  whipping  big  Joe  Woods  or 
his  recovery  of  the  lost  legacy. 

Blenham,  or  rather  an  agent  of  Blenham,  had 
killed  his  horse;  what  then  ?  His  destiny  had 
stepped  forward;  Terry  had  come;  he  had 
whizzed  back  to  the  ranch  in  her  car  and  on  time. 

What  if  the  ranch  were  mortgaged  and  to  the 
hardest  man  in  seven  counties  ?  What  though 
his  grandfather  had  obviously  fallen  supine  before 
the  old  man's  tempting  sin,  which  is  avarice,  and 
was  bound  to  break  him  ?  Was  fate  not  playing 
him  for  her  favorite  ? 

To  Steve  Packard,  riding  to  meet  the  sun  and 
to  keep  his  promise  to  the  lumber  boss,  the  world 
just  now  was  an  exceedingly  bright  and  lovely 
place;  in  this  hour  of  a  leaping  optimism  he  could 
even  picture  Terry  Temple  in  a  companionably 
laughing  mood. 

So  early  did  he  take  to  saddle  that  the  fag  end 
of  the  dawn  was  still  sweet  in  the  air  when  he 

161 


Man  to  Man 

passed  under  the  great  limbs  of  the  stragglers  of 
the  forests  clothing  his  eastern  hill-slopes.  He 
noted  how  between  the  widely  separated  boles  the 
grass  was  thick  and  rich  and  untrampled;  re- 
served against  the  time  of  need.  There  was  no 
stock  here  yet. 

He  passed  on,  swung  into  the  little-used  trail 
which  brought  him  first  to  the  McKittrick  cabin 
where  a  double-barrelled  shot-gun  six  months  ago 
had  brought  Bill  Royce  his  blindness;  then  to 
the  lumber-camp  a  mile  further  on.  Both  were 
on  the  bank  of  Packard's  Creek;  the  flume  con- 
structed by  Joe  Woods's  men  followed  the  line  of 
the  stream. 

The  new  sun  in  his  eyes,  Steve  drew  his  hat 
low  down  on  his  forehead  and  looked  curiously 
about  him.  The  timberjacks  had  come  only 
recently;  so  much  was  obvious.  They  had  come 
to  stay;  that  was  as  plainly  to  be  seen.  Rough 
slabs  of  green  timber,  still  drying  and  twisting 
and  splitting  as  it  did  so,  had  been  knocked 
together  rudely  to  make  a  long,  low  building  where 
cook  and  cookstove  and  a  two-plank  table  indi- 
cated both  kitchen  and  dining-room. 

A  half-dozen  other  shacks  and  lean-tos,  seen 
here  and  there  through  the  trees,  completed  the 
camp.  Great  fallen  trees — they  were  taking  only 
the  full-grown  timber — looking  helpless  and  hope- 

162 


At  the  Lumber  Camp 

less,  lay  this  way  and  that  like  broken  giants, 
majestically  resigned  to  the  conqueror's  axe. 

Here  in  the  peace  and  quiet  of  the  pinking  day 
this  inroad  of  commercialism  struck  Steve  sud- 
denly both  as  slaughter  and  sacrilege;  among  the 
stalwart  standing  patriarchs  and  their  bowed 
brethren  he  sat  his  horse  staring  frowningly  at  the 
little  ugly  clutter  of  buildings  housing  the  in- 
vaders. 

"My  beloved  old  granddad  had  his  nerve  with 
him,"  he  grunted  as  he  rode  on  into  the  tiny 
settlement.  "As  usual!" 

The  cook,  yawning,  bleary-eyed,  unthinkably 
tousled,  was  just  bestirring  himself.  Steve  saw 
his  back  and  a  trailing  suspender  as  he  went  into 
the  cook-shed  carrying  some  kindling-wood  in 
one  hand  and  a  bucket  of  water  in  the  other. 
It  was  only  when  Packard,  having  ridden  to  his 
door  and  looked  in,  startled  the  cook  into  swing- 
ing about,  that  the  dull-eyed  signs  of  a  night  of 
dissipation  showed  in  the  other's  face. 

"Up  late  last  night,  I'll  bet,"  laughed  Steve, 
easing  himself  in  the  saddle.  The  cook  made  a 
face  unmistakably  eloquent  of  a  bad  taste  in  his 
mouth  and  went  down  on  his  knees  before  his 
stove,  settling  slowly  like  a  man  with  stiff,  rheu- 
matic joints  or  else  a  head  which  he  did  not  in- 
tend to  jar. 

163 


Man  to  Man 

"Drunk  las'  night,"  he  growled,  settling  back 
on  his  haunches  as  his  fire  caught.  "A  man 
that'll  get  drunk  is  a  damn'  fool.  I'm  through 
wid  it." 

"Where's  Woods?"  asked  Steve.     "Up  yet?" 

"Yes,  rot  him,  he's  up.  He's  always  up.  He's 
— holy  smoke,  I  got  a  head  !" 

"Where  is  he?"  demanded  Packard. 

The  cook  rose  gently  and  for  a  moment  clasped 
his  head  with  both  hands.  Then  he  immersed 
it  gradually  in  his  bucket  of  icy  water.  After 
which,  drying  himself  with  a  dirty  towel  and 
setting  the  bucket  of  water  on  his  stove,  he  turned 
red-rimmed  eyes  upon  Steve. 

"You're  the  guy  I  fed  the  other  mornin',  ain't 
you  ?"  he  asked. 

Steve  nodded. 

"More'n  which,"  continued  the  cook,  "you're 
the  guy  as  licked  Woodsy  las'  night  in  Red  Crick  ?" 
Again  Steve  nodded. 

"An'  again  you're  claimin'  to  run  the  ranch 
here  ?  An'  to  own  it  ?  An'  to  be  oF  Hell-Fire's 
gran'son  ?" 

"I  asked  you  where  Woods  was,"  Packard 
reminded  him  sharply.  The  cook  threw  up  his 
hand  as  though  to  ward  off  a  blow. 

"Whatcha  yellin'  in  my  ear  for?"  he  moaned 
dismally.  "Want  to  split  my  head  off?  Wood- 

164 


At  the  Lumber  Camp 

sy's  over  yonder;  talkin'  with  a  man  name  of 
Blenham.  Ever  hear  of  him  ?" 

"Over  yonder "  plainly  meant  just  across  the 
creek  where  there  was  a  little  flat  open  space 
among  the  trees  in  which  stood  one  of  the  larger 
shanties.  Steve  saw  a  stove-pipe  sticking  out 
crookedly  through  the  shed  roof;  noted  a  thin 
spear  of  smoke.  He  spurred  across  the  stream 
and  to  the  timber  boss's  quarters. 

Woods  heard  him  and  came  out  into  the  bright- 
ening morning,  drawing  the  door  closed  behind 
him.  His  eyes,  like  the  cook's  though  to  a  lesser 
degree,  showed  indications  of  a  wild  night  in 
town.  Steve  guessed  that  he  hadn't  undressed 
all  night;  that  he  was  not  entirely  sober  just  now 
though  he  carried  himself  steadily  and  spoke 
well  enough. 

"I  thought  you'd  show,"  said  Woods  quietly, 
his  big  hands  down  in  his  pockets,  his  shoulders 
against  the  wall. 

"What  is  Blenham  doing  here?"  Steve  asked. 

Woods  narrowed  his  eyes  in  a  speculative  frown. 

"He's  damn'  near  dead.  He's  waitin'  for  me 
to  get  one  of  the  boys  to  hitch  up  an*  haul  him 
to  a  doctor.  He  says  you  an*  two  other  guys 
gouged  his  eye  out  for  him." 

"He's  a  liar,"  announced  Packard  angrily. 
"The  thing  was  an  accident.  It  was  a  fair  fight 


Man  to  Man 

between  him  and  Bill  Royce.  Blenham  fell  on 
an  old  spur.  I  promised  you  I'd  be  here  this 
morning,  Woods." 

"Yes,"  said  Woods.     "I  expected  you." 

"You  were  square  with  me  last  night,"  went 
on  Packard  quietly.  "I  appreciate  the  fact.  If 
ever  I  can  do  you  a  favor,  just  say  so.  So  much 
for  that  part  of  it.  Next:  Maybe  you've  heard 
Fm  the  owner  of  Ranch  Number  Ten  ?  And  that 
I'm  running  it  myself?  I've  come  over  to  tell 
you  this  morning  that  we're  knocking  off  work 
here.  I  don't  want  any  more  timber  down." 

There  came  a  little  twitching  at  the  corner  of 
Woods's  broad  mouth.  He  made  no  answer. 

"Hear  me  ?"  snapped  Steve. 

"Sure  I  hear  you,"  said  Woods  insolently. 
"So  does  Blenham;  he's  right  inside  where  he 
can  hear.  I  guess  it's  him  you  want  to  talk  with. 
I'm  takin5  my  orders  ofFn  Blenham  an'  nobody 
else." 

"I've  talked  already  with  Blenham.  I've  told 
him  not  to  set  his  hoofs  on  my  ranch  again  after 
to-day.  Since  he's  pretty  badly  hurt  I'll  let  you 
haul  him  to  the  doctor  but  I  don't  want  him  hauled 
back.  Further,  I  want  work  stopped  here  right 
now.  The  men  will  be  having  breakfast  in  a 
few  minutes.  After  breakfast  you  can  explain  to 
them  and  let  them  go." 

166 


At  the  Lumber  Camp 

Woods  shrugged. 

"My  orders,  hot  out'n  Blenham's  mouth,  is  to 
stick  on  the  job  here  an'  saw  wood,"  he  said  color- 
lessly. "I'm  takin'  my  pay  off'n  him  an'  I'm 
doin'  what  he  says." 

There  seemed  only  a  careless  indifference  in 
his  gesture  as  he  partly  turned  his  back,  staring 
up-stream;  but  the  slight  movement  served  to 
show  Packard  that  Woods  carried  a  gun  on  his 
hip,  in  plain  sight.  Well,  Woods  himself  had  said 
— "I  expected  you  !" 

Last  night  and  for  a  definite  purpose  Steve  had 
armed  himself;  this  morning,  setting  out  on  this 
errand,  he  had  tossed  the  revolver  into  a  table 
drawer  at  the  ranch-house.  He  had  never  been 
a  gunman;  if  circumstance  dictated  that  he  must 
go  armed,  well  and  good.  But  his  brows  con- 
tracted angrily  at  the  display  of  Woods's  readi- 
ness for  gun-play. 

"Look  here,  you  Joe  Woods!"  he  cried  out. 
"And  listen,  too,  you  Blenham !  I'm  no  trouble- 
seeker;  I  know  it's  a  dead  easy  thing  to  start 
a  row  that  will  see  more  than  one  man  dead  be- 
fore it's  ended,  and  what's  the  use  ?  But  I  mean 
to  have  what  is  mine  in  spite  of  you  and  Hell- 
Fire  Packard  and  the  devil !  The  right  of  the 
whole  deal  is  as  plain  as  one  and  one:  This  is 
my  outfit,  if  it  is  mortgaged;  nobody  excepting  me 

167 


Man  to  Man 

has  any  business  ordering  my  timber  cut.  And  I 
say  that  it's  not  going  to  be  cut.  If  there  is  any 
trouble  it's  up  to  you  fellows." 

From  Blenham  in  the  cabin  came  no  sound; 
Woods,  having  glanced  swiftly  at  Packard's 
angry  face,  again  stared  up-stream. 

For  a  little  Steve  Packard  gnawed  at  his  lip, 
caught  in  an  eddy  of  helpless  rage.  Never  an 
answer  from  Blenham,  never  an  answer  from 
Woods;  angry  already,  their  silences  maddened 
him.  Across  the  creek  he  saw  the  cook  standing 
in  his  kitchen  door,  listening  and  smiling  in  sickly 
fashion;  two  or  three  of  the  men,  coming  out  for 
their  breakfasts,  were  watching  him. 

They  were  an  ugly,  red-eyed  bunch,  he  thought 
as  he  swept  them  with  his  flashing  eyes;  they'd 
fight  like  dogs  for  the  joy  of  fighting;  soon  or 
late,  if  Blenham  persisted,  he'd  have  the  job  on 
his  hands  of  throwing  them  off  his  land.  Of 
course  he  could  go  "higher  up";  he  could  appeal 
to  his  grandfather. 

He  could,  but  in  his  present  mood  he  had  no 
intention  of  doing  any  such  thing.  His  grand- 
father, before  now,  should  have  withdrawn  these 
men. 

"Don't  ask  me  to  hold  my  hand  !"  the  old  man 
had  shouted  at  him.  "I'm  goin'  after  you  tooth 
an'  big  toe-nail!" 

168 


At  the  Lumber  Camp 

Well,  if  the  old  man  wanted  trouble  and  range 
war 

His  blood  was  rushing  swift  and  hot  through 
his  veins;  his  mind  working  feverishly.  One  man 
alone  against  the  crowd  of  them,  he  could  do 
nothing.  But  he  could  ride  back  to  the  ranch, 
gather  up  a  dozen  men,  put  guns  into  their  hands, 
be  back  here  in  the  matter  of  a  couple  of  hours. 

He  saw  the  timberjacks  as  one  by  one  they 
came  out  into  the  clearing  by  the  cook's  shack; 
counted  them  as  they  went  in.  The  thought  of  a 
morning  cup  of  coffee  was  attracting  them;  among 
the  faces  turned  briefly  his  way  he  recognized 
several  he  had  seen  last  night  in  the  Ace  of  Dia- 
monds saloon.  He  saw  two  of  them  hitching  up 
the  big  wagon,  evidently  the  only  conveyance  in 
the  camp.  They  were  getting  ready  to  take 
Blenham. 

Suddenly  a  new  light  flashed  into  Steve's  eyes; 
he  turned  his  head  abruptly  that  Joe  Woods 
should  not  see. 

"How  many  men  have  you  got  here,  Woods  ?" 
he  asked. 

Wondering  at  the  question  Woods  answered  it: 

"Fourteen;  startin'  a  new  camp  across  the 
ridge." 

Steve  had  counted  nine  men  go  into  the  cook's 
shed;  with  the  cook  there  were  ten;  the  two  with 


Man  to  Man 

the  horses  made  twelve.  There  should  be  two 
more.  He  waited.  Meanwhile,  secretly  so  that 
Woods  might  not  guess  what  he  was  doing  or 
see  the  busy  hand,  he  loosened  his  latigo,  seeming 
merely  to  slouch  in  his  saddle;  while  he  made  a 
half-dozen  random  remarks  which  set  Woods  won- 
dering still  further,  he  got  his  cinch  loose.  An- 
other man  had  gone  into  the  kitchen.  Thirteen. 

"Fourteen  counting  you?"  he  asked  Woods. 

"Yes." 

Then  they  were  all  accounted  for;  two  with  the 
horses;  eleven  in  the  shed;  Joe  Woods  in  front  of 
him. 

"My  cinch  is  loose,"  said  Packard  and  dis- 
mounted, throwing  the  stirrup  up  across  the  sad- 
dle out  of  his  way,  his  fingers  going  to  the  latigo 
which  he  had  just  loosened. 

Woods  watched  him  idly.  Then  suddenly 
both  men  looked  toward  the  kitchen.  The  door 
had  been  slammed  shut;  there  was  a  fairly  hide- 
ous racket  as  of  all  of  the  cook's  pots  and  pans 
falling  together;  after  it  a  boom  of  laughter,  and 
finally  the  cook's  voice  lifted  querulously.  Woods 
grinned.  Unruffled  by  Packard's  presence  he 
said  casually: 

"Cookie  mos'  usually  has  the  hell  of  a  head 
after  a  night  like  las'  night.  The  boys  knows 
it  an*  has  a  little  fun  with  him !" 

170 


At  the  Lumber  Camp 

The  two  men  harnessing  the  horses  had  evi- 
dently guessed  as  did  Woods  what  was  happening 
in  the  cook's  domain;  at  any  rate,  they  hastily 
tied  the  horses  and  hurried  to  see.  Packard,  still 
busied  with  his  latigo,  saw  them  and  watched  them 
until  the  door  had  shut  behind  them. 

His  horse  stood  between  him  and  Woods.  He 
tickled  the  animal  in  the  flank;  it  spun  about, 
pulling  back,  plunging,  drawing  Woods's  eyes. 
And  the  next  thing  which  Woods  clearly  under- 
stood was  that  Steve  Packard  was  upon  him,  that 
one  of  Packard's  hands  was  at  his  throat,  that  the 
other  had  gone  for  the  gun  on  Woods's  hip  and 
had  gotten  it. 

"Back  into  your  shack !"  commanded  Packard, 
jabbing  the  muzzle  of  Woods's  big  automatic 
hard  into  Woods's  ribs.  "Quick !" 

To  himself  just  now  Steve  had  said:  "One  man 
against  the  crowd  of  them,  he  could  do  nothing !" 
Just  exactly  what  Woods  would  be  thinking; 
what  Blenham  inside  would  be  thinking;  just 
exactly  what  the  rest  of  the  men  thought  since 
they  turned  their  backs  on  him  and  forgot  him 
in  their  sport  of  badgering  the  cook. 

What  he  was  doing  now  was  what  he  would 
term,  did  he  hear  of  another  man  attempting  it, 
"A  fool  thing  to  do !"  And  yet  he  had  told  him- 
self many  a  time  that  a  man  stood  a  fair  chance 

171 


Man  to  Man 

to  get  away  with  the  unexpected  if  he  hit  quick 
and  hard  and  kept  his  wits  about  him. 

Woods,  taken  thoroughly  aback,  allowed  him- 
self to  be  driven  again  into  his  cabin.  Packard 
followed  and  closed  the  door.  Within  was  Blen- 
ham, lying  on  Woods's  bunk,  his  head  still 
swathed,  a  half-empty  whiskey  bottle  on  the  floor 
at  his  side.  With  one  watery  eye  he  looked  from 
one  to  the  other  of  the  two  men  bursting  in  on 
him. 

"Blenham,"  cried  Packard,  standing  over  him 
while  he  was  careful  not  to  lose  sight  of  Joe 
Woods's  working  face,  "I  want  work  stopped 
here  and  this  crowd  of  men  off  the  ranch.  You 
heard  what  I  said  outside,  didn't  you  ?" 

Blenham  answered  heavily: 

"Woods,  don't  you  pay  no  attention  to  what 
this  man  says.  You  keep  your  men  on  the  job. 
An'  if  you  got  another  drop  of  whiskey " 

"The  bottle's  where  you  put  it,"  retorted 
Woods.  "Under  your  pillow." 

Blenham  rolled  on  his  side,  slipping  his  hand 
under  his  pillow.  All  the  time  his  one  red  eye 
shone  evilly  on  Steve,  who,  his  wits  about  him, 
stepped  back  into  the  corner  whence  he  might 
at  the  same  time  watch  Woods  and  that  hand  of 
Blenham's  which  was  making  its  stupid  little 
play  of  seeking  a  bottle. 

172 


At  the  Lumber  Camp 

"Take  it  out  by  the  neck,  Blenham,"  said 
Steve  sternly.  "Take  it  out  by  the  neck  and  pass 
it  to  me,  butt  end  first !  Sabe?  I'm  guessing 
the  kind  of  drink  you'd  like  to  set  up." 

Blenham's  one  eye  and  Steve's  two  clashed; 
Woods  watched  interestedly.  He  even  laughed 
as  at  last,  with  an  exclamation  which  was  as 
much  a  groan  as  a  curse,  Blenham  jerked  out  his 
gun  and  flung  it  down  on  his  quilt.  Steve  took 
it  up  and  shoved  it  into  his  pocket. 

"There's  jus'  a  han'ful  of  men  over  to  the  cook- 
house," said  Woods  humorously.  "Havin*  stuck 
up  me  an'  Blenham  you  oughtn't  to  have  no 
trouble  over  there !" 

"How  many  men?"  demanded  Steve  quietly. 
"Thirteen,  if  I  counted  right,  eh,  Woods  ?  That's 
no  kind  of  a  number  to  pin  your  hopes  on !  And 
now  listen;  I'll  cut  it  short:  If  there  is  any  trou- 
ble this  morning,  if  any  man  gets  hurt,  remember 
that  this  is  my  land,  that  you  jaspers  are  trespass- 
ing, that  I  am  simply  defending  my  property. 
In  other  words,  you're  in  wrong.  You'll  be  skat- 
ing on  pretty  thin  ice  if  you  just  plead  later  on 
that  you  were  obeying  orders  from  Blenham;  fol- 
low Blenham  long  enough  and  you'll  get  to  the 
pen.  Now,  I'm  going  outside.  You  and  Blenham 
stay  in  here  until  I  call  for  you.  I'll  shut  the 
door;  you  leave  it  shut.  Take  time  to  roll  yourself 

173 


Man  to  Man 

a  smoke  and  think  things  over  before  you  start 
anything,  Joe  Woods/' 

Then  swiftly  he  whipped  open  the  door,  stepped 
out,  and  snapped  it  shut  after  him. 

"I'm  taking  a  chance,"  he  muttered,  his  eyes 
hard,  his  jaw  set  and  thrust  forward.  "A  good 
long  chance.  But  that's  the  way  to  play  the 
game!" 

The  door  of  the  cook's  shed,  facing  him  from 
across  the  creek,  was  still  closed.  Steve  moved 
a  dozen  paces  down-stream;  now  he  could  com- 
mand Woods's  cabin  with  the  tail  of  his  eye,  look 
straight  into  the  kitchen  when  the  door  opened, 
keep  an  eye  upon  the  one  little  square  win- 
dow. 

"It's  all  in  the  cards,"  he  told  himself  grimly. 
"A  man  can  win  a  jack  pot  on  a  pair  of  deuces,  if 
he  plays  the  game  right !" 

At  this  point  Packard's  Creek  is  narrow;  the 
distance  between  the  spot  where  he  stood  and  the 
door  of  the  cook-shed  was  not  over  forty  feet. 
He  shifted  Woods's  gun  to  his  left  hand,  taking 
into  his  right  Blenham's  old-style  revolver  which 
was  more  to  his  fancy.  Then,  to  get  matters 
under  way  in  as  emphatic  a  manner  as  he  knew 
how,  he  sent  a  bullet  crashing  through  the  cook's 
roof. 

The   murmur  of  voices   died   away   suddenly; 

174 


At  the  Lumber  Camp 

it  was  intensely  still  for  a  moment;  then  there  was 
a  scrambling,  a  scraping  of  heavy  boots  and  drag- 
ging benches,  and  the  cook's  door  snapped  back 
against  the  outside  wall,  the  opening  filled  with 
hulking  forms,  as  men  crowded  to  see  what  was 
happening.  What  they  saw  was  the  nose  of 
Blenham's  gun  in  Steve's  hand. 

"Back  up  there,"  shouted  Packard.  "Stand 
still  while  you  listen  to  me." 

They  hesitated,  wondering.  A  man  growled 
something,  his  voice  deep-throated  and  truculent. 
Another  man  laughed.  The  forms  filling  the  door- 
way began  a  slow  bulging  outward  as  other  forms 
behind  crowded  upon  them. 

Within  Woods's  cabin  there  was  a  little  noise. 

"You  men  are  leaving  to-day,"  said  Steve 
hastily.  "Just  as  fast  as  you  can  pull  your  freight. 
Blenham  and  Woods  are  going  with  you.  All 
told  there  are  above  a  dozen  of  you  and  only  one 
of  me.  But  I've  got  Woods's  gun  and  Blenham's 
and  I  happen  to  mean  business.  This  is  my  out- 
fit; if  you  fellows  start  anything  and  there  is 
trouble,  why  you're  on  the  wrong  side  of  the 
fence.  Besides,  you're  apt  to  get  hurt.  Blen- 
ham and  Woods  are  quitting  cold;  so  far  as  I 
can  see  you  boys  would  be  a  pack  of  fools  to  make 
more  of  a  stand  than  they  are  doing." 

The    man    who   had    laughed    and   who   now 

I7S 


Man  to  Man 

thrust  his  face  forward  through  his  companions, 
grinned  widely  and  announced: 

"We  mightn't  worry  none  about  where  Blen- 
ham  an'  Joe  get  off.  But  we  ain't  had  our  break- 
fasts yet!" 

"You  don't  get  any  breakfast  on  my  land!" 
said  Steve  sharply,  more  afraid  just  now  of  hav- 
ing to  do  with  good  nature  than  with  anger. 

For  if  the  dozen  men  there  simply  laughed  and 
stepped  out  and  dispersed,  his  hands  would  be 
tied;  he  couldn't  shoot  down  a  lot  of  joking  men 
and  he  knew  it.  And  they  would  know  it. 

"  You're  on  your  way  right  now !  You,  there  !" 
This  to  a  big,  stoop-shouldered  young  giant  in 
the  fore,  blue-eyed,  straw-haired,  northern-look- 
ing. "Step  out  this  way,  Sandy!  And  step 
lively." 

The  northerner  shrugged  and  looked  belliger- 
ent. Steve  moistened  his  lips. 

"You  can't  bluff  me — "  began  the  northerner. 

And  Steve  knew  that,  having  gone  this  far,  he 
could  not  stop  at  bluffing.  And  he  knew  that 
he  must  not  seem  to  hesitate. 

"I  can  shoot  as  straight  as  most  men,"  he  said 
smoothly.  "But  sometimes  I  miss  an  inch  or 
two  at  this  distance.  You  men  who  don't  want 
to  take  any  unnecessary  chances  had  better  give 
Sandy  a  little  more  elbow-room!" 


At  the  Lumber  Camp 

The  stoop-shouldered  man  squared  himself  a 
little,  jerked  up  his  head,  took  on  a  fresh  air  of 
defiance.  Slowly  Steve  lifted  the  muzzle  of  his 
gun — slowly  a  man  drew  back  from  the  north- 
erner, a  man  fell  away  to  the  right,  a  man  drew  a 
hasty  pace  back  at  the  left.  He  was  left  standing 
in  the  middle  of  the  open  doorway.  He  shifted  a 
little,  doubled  his  fists  at  his  sides,  twisted  his  head. 

Again  a  noise  from  Woods's  cabin.  Steve 
saw  that  the  door  had  quietly  opened  six  inches. 
There  was  a  quick  movement  within;  the  door 
was  flung  wide  open.  Woods  was  standing  in 
the  opening,  a  rifle  in  his  hands,  the  barrel  trained 
on  Steve's  chest.  Steve  saw  the  look  in  Woods's 
eye,  whirled  and  fired  first.  The  rifle  bullet  cut 
whistling  high  through  the  air;  Woods  dropped 
the  rifle  and  reeled  and  went  down  under  the  im- 
pact of  a  leaden  missile  from  a  forty-five  calibre 
revolver.  The  rifle  lay  just  outside  now. 

The  squat  ycung  giant  with  the  blue  eyes  and 
shock  head  of  hair  had  not  stirred.  His  mouth 
was  open;  his  face  was  stupidly  expressionless. 

"Throw  up  your  hands  and  step  outside!" 
Steve  called  to  him  roughly. 

The  man  started,  looked  swiftly  about  him, 
stepped  forward,  lifting  his  big  hands.  They 
were  still  clenched  but  opened  slowly  and  loosely 
as  they  went  above  his  head. 

177 


Man  to  Man 

"Turn  your  back  this  way,"  commanded  Steve, 
feeling  his  mastery  of  the  moment  and  knowing 
that  he  must  drive  his  advantage  swiftly.  "  Belly 
to  the  wall.  That's  it.  Next !" 

A  man,  the  man  who  had  twice  laughed, 
stepped  forward  eagerly.  He  needed  no  invita- 
tion to  lift  his  hands,  nor  yet  to  go  to  the  other's 
side,  his  face  to  the  wall.  His  eyes  were  bulging 
a  little;  they  were  fixed  not  on  Steve  Packard  but 
on  the  body  of  Joe  Woods.  The  timber  boss  lay 
across  the  threshold,  half  in,  half  out,  twisting  a 
little  where  he  lay. 

Now,  one  after  another,  speaking  in  low  voices 
or  not  at  all,  the  timber  crew  came  out  into  the 
stillness  of  the  new  day.  Steve  counted  them 
as  they  appeared,  always  keeping  the  tail  of  his 
eye  on  Woods's  door,  always  realizing  that  Blen- 
ham  was  still  to  be  dealt  with,  always  watchful  of 
the  small  square  window  in  the  cook's  shed.  Once 
he  saw  a  face  there;  he  called  out  warningly  and 
the  face  hastily  withdrew. 

At  last  they  were  outside,  thirteen  men  with 
their  backs  to  him,  their  hands  lifted.  Stepping 
backward  Steve  went  to  Woods's  cabin. 

"Come  out,  Blenham,"  he  called  curtly. 

Blenham  cursed  him  but  came.  Stepping  over 
Woods's  body  he  said  threateningly: 

" Killed  him,  have  you  ?  You'll  swing  for  that." 
178 


At  the  Lumber  Camp 

"Stand  where  you  are,  Blenham."  He  won- 
dered dully  if  he  had  killed  Woods.  He  consid- 
ered the  matter  almost  impersonally  just  now;  the 
game  wasn't  yet  played,  cards  were  out,  the  mind 
must  be  cool,  the  eye  quick.  "You  two  boys  on 
the  end  come  over  here  and  help  me  with  Woods." 

Again  Woods's  big  body  twisted;  it  even  turned 
half  over  now,  and  Woods  sat  up.  His  hand  went 
to  his  shoulder;  Steve  saw  the  hand  go  red. 
Woods's  face  was  white  and  drawn  with  pain. 
His  eyes  went  to  the  rifle  at  his  feet.  Steve 
stepped  forward,  took  the  thing  up,  tossed  it 
back  into  the  cabin.  Woods  swayed,  pitched  a 
little  forward,  caught  himself,  steadied  himself 
with  a  hand  on  the  door-jamb,  and  shakily  drew 
himself  to  his  feet.  Steve  marvelled  at  him. 

"If  you  like,  Woods,"  he  said  quietly,  "I'll 
have  you  taken  over  to  my  place  and  will  send  for 
a  doctor  for  you." 

"Aw,  hell,  I  ain't  hurt  bad,"  said  Woods. 

Steve  saw  how  his  brows  contracted  as  he  spoke. 
The  red  hand  was  laid  rather  hurriedly  on  the 
shoulder  of  one  of  the  two  men  whom  Steve  had 
summoned  across  the  creek. 

Blenham  turned  away  and  went  down-stream, 
toward  the  big  wagon.  Woods  followed,  walking 
slowly  and  painfully,  leaning  now  and  again  on 
his  support. 

179 


Man  to  Man 

As  Steve  called  to  them  the  men  lined  up  along 
the  wall  of  the  cook's  shed,  turned,  and,  their 
hands  still  lifted,  went  down-stream.  One  after 
another  they  climbed  up  into  the  wagon.  Two  or 
three  laughed;  for  the  most  part  there  were  only 
black  faces  and  growing  anger.  Many  of  them 
had  drunk  much  and  slept  little  last  night;  not  a 
man  of  them  but  missed  his  coffee. 

Packard  caught  up  his  horse's  reins  and  swung 
into  the  saddle  calling  out: 

"I  don't  know  anything  you're  waiting  for. 
Climb  into  the  seat,  somebody.  Get  started. 
Blenham  and  Woods  both  need  a  doctor.  And 
you  needn't  come  back  for  anything  you  left; 
I'll  have  all  your  junk  boxed  and  hauled  into  Red 
Creek  this  afternoon." 

A  man  gathered  up  the  four  reins  and  climbed 
to  the  high  seat.  The  brake  was  snapped  back, 
the  horses  danced,  set  their  necks  into  their  col- 
lars, and  the  wheels  turned.  Behind  them  Steve 
Packard,  still  watchful,  rode  to  escort  them  to  a 
satisfactory  distance  beyond  the  border  of  his 
property. 

Terry  Temple  out  in  front  of  the  dilapidated 
Temple  home  was  amusing  herself  with  a  pair  of 
field-glasses.  Her  big  wolf-hound  had  just  tem- 
porarily laid  aside  his  customary  dignity  and  was 

1 80 


At  the  Lumber  Camp 

chasing  a  rabbit.  Terry  had  her  binoculars 
focussed  on  a  distant  field,  curious  as  to  the  out- 
come. 

Suddenly  she  lost  this  interest.  Far  down  the 
road  she  glimpsed  a  big  wagon;  it  was  filled  with 
standing  men.  She  altered  her  focus. 

"Dad!"  she  called  quickly.  "Oh,  dad! 
Come  here !" 

Her  father  came  out  on  the  porch. 

"What  do  you  want  ?"  he  asked  irritably. 

Terry  came  running  to  him,  flushed  with  her 
excitement,  and  shoved  the  glasses  up  to  his  eyes. 
Temple  dodged,  fussed  with  the  focussing  appara- 
tus, lowered  the  glasses,  and  blinked  down  the  road. 

"It's  just  a  wagon,  ain't  it?"  he  demanded. 
"Looks  like " 

Again  she  snatched  the  binoculars. 

:f  A  lot  of  men  are  standing  up,"  she  announced. 
"That's  the  team  from  the  Packard  logging-camp. 
There's  a  man  sitting  on  the  front  seat  with  the 
driver  and  he's  got  a  rag  around  his  head.  There's 
some  sort  of  a  bed  made  in  the  bottom  of  the 
wagon;  a  man's  lying  down.  I  actually  believe, 
Dad  Temple- 
She  broke  off  in  a  strange  little  gasp.  Behind 
the  wagon  a  man  rode  on  horseback;  the  sun 
glinted  on  a  revolver  in  his  hand.  They  came 
closer. 

181 


Man  to  Man 

"It's  Blenham  on  the  front  seat  with  a  bandage 
around  his  head  !"  she  cried.  "He's  hurt !  And 
— dad,  that  man  back  there  is  Steve  Packard ! 
And  he's  driving  that  crowd  off  his  ranch,  as  sure 
as  you  are  Jim  Temple  and  I'm  Teresa  Arriega 
Temple!" 

Temple  started. 

"What's  that?"  he  demanded  with  a  genuine 
show  of  interest. 

Together  they  stared  down  the  road.  On  came 
the  wagon  and  the  rider  behind  it.  Slowly  the 
look  in  Terry's  eyes  altered.  In  a  moment  they 
were  fairly  dancing.  And  then,  causing  her  father 
to  stare  at  her  curiously,  she  broke  out  into  peal 
after  peal  of  delicious  laughter. 

"Steve  Packard,"  she  cried  out,  her  exclama- 
tion meant  for  her  own  ears  alone  and  reaching 
no  further  than  those  of  her  newly  imported 
Japanese  cook  who  was  peering  out  of  his  kitchen 
window  just  behind  her,  "I  believe  you're  a  white 
man  after  all !  And  a  gentleman  and  a  sport ! 
Dad,  he's  nabbed  the  whole  crowd  of  them  and 
put  them  on  the  run.  By  glory,  it  looks  to  me 
like  a  man  has  turned  up  !  Maybe  he  was  telling 
me  the  truth  last  night." 

The  wagon  came  on,  drew  abreast  of  the 
Temple  gate,  passed  by.  Temple  stared  in  what 
looked  like  consternation.  Steve,  following  the 

182 


At  the  Lumber  Camp 

wagon,  came  abreast  of  the  gate,  stopped,  watched 
the  four  horses  draw  their  freight  around  the  next 
bend  in  the  road,  accounted  his  work  done,  and 
turned  toward  the  Temples. 

"Good  morning,"  he  called  cheerily,  highly 
content  with  life  just  at  this  moment.  "Fine 
day,  isn't  it?" 

Terry  looked  at  him  coolly.  Then  she  turned 
her  back  and  went  into  the  house.  Iki,  the  new 
cook,  looked  at  her  wonderingly. 

"To  me  it  appears  most  probable  certain," 
said  the  astute  Oriental  within  his  soul,  "that 
inhabitants  of  these  wilderness  places  have  much 
madness  within  their  brains." 

Steve  swung  his  horse  back  into  the  road  and 
set  his  face  toward  his  own  ranch. 

"Darn  the  girl,"  he  muttered. 


183 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE    MAN-BREAKER  AT   HOME 

IN  a  short  time  the  cattle  country  had  come  to 
know  a  good  deal  of  Steve  Packard,  son  of 
the  late  Philip  Packard,  grandson  of  Old  Man 
Packard,  variously  known.  Red  Creek  gossiped 
within  its  limits  and  sent  forth  word  of  a  quarrel 
of  some  sort  with  Blenham,  a  winning  game  of 
seven-and-a-half,  a  fight  with  big  Joe  Woods. 
Red  Creek  was  inclined  to  set  the  seal  of  approval 
on  this  new  Packard,  for  Red  Creek,  on  both  sides 
of  its  quarrelsome  street,  stood  ready  to  say  that 
a  man  was  a  man  even  when  it  might  go  gunning 
for  him. 

As  the  days  went  by  Packard's  fame  grew. 
There  were  tales  that  in  a  savage  melee  with  Blen- 
ham he  had  eliminated  that  capable  individual's 
right  eye;  and  though  there  were  those  who  had 
had  it  from  some  of  the  Ranch  Number  Ten  boys 
that  Blenham's  loss  was  the  result  of  an  accident, 
still  it  remained  unquestioned  that  Blenham  had 
suffered  injury  at  Packard's  ranch  and  had  been 
driven  forth  from  it. 

Then,  Packard  had  followed  Blenham  to  the 
logging-camp;  he  had  tackled  the  crowd  headed 


The  Man-Breaker  at  Home 

by  Joe  Woods;  he  had  come  remarkably  close 
to  killing  Woods;  he  had  broken  up  the  camp  and 
sent  the  timberjacks  on  their  way.  He  had  had 
a  horse  killed  under  him;  he  had  quarrelled  with 
his  grandfather;  he  was  standing  on  his  own  feet. 
In  brief — 

"He's  a  sure  enough,  out  an'  out  Packard!" 
they  said  of  him. 

To  be  sure,  while  there  were  men  who  spoke 
well  of  him  there  were  others,  perhaps  as  many, 
who  spoke  ill.  There  were  the  barkeeper  of  the 
Ace  of  Diamonds,  Joe  Woods,  Blenham;  they  had 
their  friends  and  hangers-on.  On  the  other  hand, 
offsetting  these,  there  were  old  friends  whom 
Steve  had  not  seen  for  twelve  or  more  years. 

Such  was  Brocky  Lane  whose  cowboy  had 
loaned  Steve  a  horse  which  had  been  killed  on  the 
Red  Creek  road.  Young  Packard  promptly  paid 
for  the  animal  and  resumed  auld  lang  syne  with 
the  hearty,  generous  Brocky  Lane. 

What  men  had  to  say  of  him  came  last  of  all 
to  Steve.  But  some  fifty  miles  to  the  north  of 
Ranch  Number  Ten,  on  the  far-flung  acres  of 
the  biggest  stock-ranch  in  the  State,  there  was 
another  Packard  to  whom  rumors  came  swiftly. 
And  this  was  because  the  old  grandfather  went 
far  out  of  his  way  upon  every  opportunity  to 
learn  of  his  grandson's  activities. 

185 


Man  to  Man 

"What  for  a  man  is  he  growed  up  to  be,  any- 
how ?"  was  what  Hell-Fire  Packard  was  interested 
in  ascertaining. 

When  the  old  man  wanted  to  get  anywhere  he 
ordered  out  his  car  and  Guy  Little.  When  he 
wanted  information  he  sent  for  Guy  Little.  The 
undersized  mechanician  was  gifted  with  eyes 
which  could  see,  ears  which  could  hear,  and  a 
tongue  which  could  set  matters  clear;  he  must 
have  been  unusually  keen  to  have  retained  his 
position  in  the  old  man's  household  for  the  mat- 
ter of  five  or  six  years. 

To  his  employer  he  had  come  once  upon  a  time, 
half-starved  and  weary,  a  look  of  dread  in  his 
eyes  which  had  the  way  of  turning  swiftly  over 
his  shoulder;  the  old  man  had  had  from  the  be- 
ginning the  more  than  suspicion  that  the  little 
fellow  was  a  fugitive  from  the  law  and  in  a  hurry 
at  that. 

He  had  immediately  taken  him  in  and  given 
him  succor  and  comfort.  The  poor  devil  fumbled 
for  a  name  and  was  so  obviously  making  himself 
a  new  one  that  Packard  dubbed  him  Guy  Little 
on  the  spot,  simply  because,  he  explained,  he 
was  such  a  little  guy.  And  thereafter  the  two 
grew  in  friendship. 

Guy  Little's  first  coming  had  been  opportune. 
The  old  man  had  only  recently  bought  his  first 

1 86 


The  Man-Breaker  at  Home 

touring-car;  in  haste  to  be  gone  somewhere  his 
motor  failed  to  respond  to  his  first  coaxing  and 
subsequent  bursts  of  violent  rage.  While  he  was 
cursing  it,  reviling  it,  shaking  his  fist  at  it,  and 
vowing  he'd  set  a  keg  of  giant  powder  under  the 
thing  and  blow  it  clean  to  blue  blazes,  Guy  Little 
ran  a  loving  hand  over  it,  stroked  its  mane,  so  to 
speak,  whispered  in  its  ear,  and  set  the  engine 
purring.  Old  Man  Packard  nodded;  they  two, 
big-bodied  millionaire  and  dwarfed  waif,  needed 
each  other. 

"Climb  on  the  runnin'-board,  Guy  Little," 
he  said  right  then.  "You  go  wherever  I  go." 
And  later  he  came  to  say  of  his  mechanician, 
"Him?  Why,  man,  he  can  take  four  ol'  wagon 
wheels  an'  a  can  of  gasoline  an'  make  the  damn* 
thing  go.  He's  all  automobile  brains,  that's 
what  Guy  Little  is !" 

On  the  Big  Bend  ranch,  the  old  man's  largest 
and  favorite  of  several  kindred  holdings,  an  out- 
fit which  flung  its  twenty  thousand  acres  this 
way  and  that  among  the  Little  Hills  and  on  either 
side  of  the  upper  waters  of  the  stream  which 
eventually  gave  its  name  to  Red  Creek,  the  oldest 
of  the  name  of  Packard  had  summoned  Guy  Little. 

It  was  some  ten  days  after  the  stopping  of  all 
activity  in  the  Ranch  Number  Ten  lumber- 
camp.  He  had  been  sitting  alone  in  his  library, 


Man  to  Man 

smoking  a  pipe,  and  staring  out  of  his  window  and 
across  his  fields.  Suddenly  he  sprang  to  his  feet, 
went  to  his  door,  and  shouted  down  the  long  hall: 

"Ho,  there!    Guy  Little!" 

The  house  was  big;  rooms  had  been  added  now 
and  then  at  intervals  during  the  last  thirty  or 
forty  years;  the  master's  library  was  of  generous 
dimensions  and  could  have  stabled  a  herd  of 
fifty  horses.  This  chamber  was  in  the  south- 
west corner  of  the  rambling  edifice;  Guy  Little's 
quarters  were  diagonally  across  the  building. 
But  Packard  asked  no  tinkling  electric  bell;  as 
usual  he  was  content  to  stick  his  head  out  into 
the  hall  and  yell  in  that  big,  booming  voice  of  his: 

"Ho,  there !    Guy  Little,  come  here !" 

Having  voiced  his  command  he  went  back  to 
his  deep  leather  chair  and  refilled  his  pipe.  It 
was  the  time  of  early  dusk;  not  yet  were  the  coal- 
oil  lamps  lighted;  shadows  were  lengthening  and 
merging  out  in  the  rolling  fields.  Packard's  eyes, 
withdrawn  from  the  outdoors,  wandered  along 
his  tall  and  seldom-used  book-shelves,  fell  to  the 
one  worn  volume  on  the  table  beside  him,  went 
hastily  to  the  door.  Down  the  hall  came  the 
sound  of  quick  boot-heels.  He  took  up  the  single 
volume  and  thrust  it  out  of  sight  under  the  leather 
cushion  of  his  chair.  The  mechanician  was  in  the 
room  before  he  could  get  his  pipe  lighted. 

1 88 


The  Man-Breaker  at  Home 

4  You  called,  m'lord?" 

Guy  Little  stood  drawn  up  to  make  the  most  of 
his  very  inconsiderable  height,  eyes  straight 
ahead,  hands  at  sides,  chin  elevated  and  station- 
ary. Nothing  was  plainer  than  that  he  aped 
the  burlesqued  English  butler  -unless  it  be  that 
it  was  even  more  obvious  that  in  his  chosen  role 
he  was  a  ridiculous  failure.  There  never  was  the 
man  less  designed  by  nature  for  the  part  than  Guy 
Little. 

And  yet  he  insisted;  in  the  beginning  of  his 
relationship  with  his  employer,  his  soul  swelling 
with  gratitude,  his  imagination  touched  by  the 
splendors  into  which  his  fate  had  led  him,  awed 
by  the  dominant  Packard,  he  had  wanted  always 
upon  an  occasion  like  this  to  demand  stiffly: 

"You  rang,  your  majesty  ?" 

Packard  had  cursed  and  threatened  and  brow- 
beaten him  down  to 

"You  called,  m'lord?" 

But  not  even  old  Hell-Fire  Packard  could  get 
him  any  further. 

"Yes,  I  called,"  grunted  the  old  man.  "I 
hollered  my  head  off  at  you.  I  want  to  know 
what  you  foun'  out.  Let's  have  it." 

Guy  Little  made  his  little  butler-bow. 

"Your  word  is  law,  m'lord,"  he  said,  once  more 
rigid  and  unbending. 

189 


Man  to  Man 

Although  Packard  knew  this  very  well  without 
being  told  and  had  known  it  a  good  many  years 
before  Guy  Little  had  been  born,  and  although 
Guy  Little  had  repeated  the  phrase  time  without 
number,  the  old  man  accepted  it  peacefully  as 
a  necessary  though  utterly  damnable  introduc- 
tion. 

"It's  like  this,"  continued  the  mechanician. 
"Not  knowin'  what  you  thought  an*  not  even 
knowin'  what  you  wanted  to  think,  an'  figgerin' 
to  play  safe,  I've  picked  up  the  dope  all  over. 
Which  is  sayin'  I  bought  drinks  on  both  sides  the 
street,  whiskey  at  Whitey  Wimble's  joint  an'  more 
of  the  same  at  Dan  Hodges's.  An'  I  foun'  out 
several  things,  m'lord.  If  it  is  your  wish " 

"Spit  'em  out,  Guy  Little!  What  for  a  man 
is  he?" 

"Firs',"  said  Guy  Little,  shifting  his  feet  the 
fraction  of  an  inch  so  that  his  chin  bore  directly 
upon  Packard,  "he's  a  scrapper.  He  beat  up 
Joe  Woods,  a  bigger  man  than  him;  later  he  took 
part  in  some  sort  of  a  party  durin'  which,  like  is 
beknown  to  you,  somebody  gouged  Blenham's 
eye  out;  after  that,  single-handed,  he  cleaned  out 
your  lumber-camp,  fifteen  men  countin'  Blen- 
ham.  Tally  one,  he's  a  scrapper." 

For  an  instant  it  seemed  that  all  of  the  light 
there  was  in  the  swiftly  darkening  room  had 

190 


The  Man-Breaker  at  Home 

centred  in  the  blue  eyes  under  the  old  man's 
bushy  white  brows.  He  drew  deeply  upon  his 
pipe. 

"Go  on,  Guy  Little,"  he  ordered.  "What 
more  ?  Spit  it  out,  man." 

"Nex',"  reported  the  little  man,  "he's  a  born 
gambler.  If  he  wasn't  he  wouldn't  of  tied  into  a 
game  of  buckin'  you;  he  wouldn't  of  played  seven- 
an'-a-half  like  he  did  in  at  the  Ace  of  Diamonds; 
he  wouldn't  of  took  them  long  chances  tacklin' 
Woodsy 's  timberjacks  before  breakfas'.  Scrapper 
an'  gambler.  That's  tally  one  an'  two." 

The  old  man  frowned  heavily,  his  teeth  re- 
maining tight  clamped  on  his  pipestem  as  he 
cried  sharply: 

"That's  it!  You've  said  it:  gambler!  Drat 
the  boy,  I  knowed  he  had  it  in  his  blood.  An' 
it'll  ruin  him,  ruin  him,  Guy  Little,  as  it  would 
ruin  any  man.  We  got  to  get  that  fool  gam- 
blin'  spirit  out'n  him.  A  man  that's  always 
takin'  chances  never  gets  anywhere;  take  a  chance 
an'  you  ain't  got  a  chance  !  That's  the  way  of  it, 
Guy  Little!  Go  on,  though.  What  else  about 
him?" 

"He's  a  good  sport,"  went  on  the  news-gatherer, 
"an'  he  don't  ask  no  help  from  nobody.  He 
stan's  on  his  two  feet  like  a  man,  m'lord.  When 
he  sees  a  row  ahead  he  don't  go  to  the  law  with  it; 

191 


Man  to  Man 

no,  m'lord;  no  indeed,  m'lord.  He  says  'Hell 
with  the  law!'  Like  a  man  would,  like  me  an' 
you  ...  an'  he  kills  his  own  rats  himself." 

"That's  the  Packard  of  him!  For,  by  God, 
Guy  Little,  he  is  a  Packard  even  if  he  has  got  a 
wrong  start !  Rich  man's  son — silver-spoon  stuff 
— why,  it  would  spoil  a  better  man  than  you  ever 
saw!  Didn't  I  spoil  my  son  Phil  that-a-way  ? 
Didn't  Phil  start  out  spoilin'  his  son  Stephen  that 
same  way  ?  But  he's  a  Packard — an' — an' 

"An' what,  m'lord?" 

The  old  man's  fist  fell  heavily  on  the  arm  of  his 
chair. 

"An'  I'm  still  hopin'  he's  goin'  to  be  a  damn' 
good  Packard  at  that !  But  you  go  on,  Guy  Lit- 
tle. What  else?" 

"Sorta  reckless,  he  is,"  resumed  Guy  Little. 
"But  that's  purty  near  the  same  thing  as  havin' 
the  gamblin'  spirit,  ain't  it  ?  Nex'  an'  final, 
m'lord,  he's  got  what  you  might  call  an  eye  for 
a  good-lookin'  girl." 

"The  devil  you  say,  Guy  Little!"  The  old 
man,  beginning  to  settle  in  his  chair,  sat  bolt 
upright.  "Is  some  female  woman  tryin'  to  get 
her  hooks  in  my  gran'son  already  ?  Name  her 
to  me,  sir!" 

"Name  of  Temple,"  said  Little.  "Terry  Tem- 
ple as  they  call  her,  an'  a  sure  good-lookin'  party, 

192 


The  Man-Breaker  at  Home 

if  you  ask  me !  Classy  from  eyes  to  ankles  an' 
when  it  comes  to " 

"Hold  on,  Guy  Little  !"  exploded  old  man  Pack- 
ard, leaping  to  his  feet,  towering  high  above  the 
little  man,  who  looked  up  at  him  with  an  earnest 
and  placid  expression.  "That  wench,  that  she- 
devil,  that  Jezebel !  Settin'  her  traps  for  my  boy 
Stephen,  is  she  ?  Why,  man  alive,  she  ain't  fit 
to  scrape  the  corral-mud  ofF'n  his  boots.  She's 
a  low-down,  deceitful  jade,  that's  what  she  is,  sired 
by  a  sheep-stealin',  throat-cuttin',  ornery,  no- 
'count,  worthless  cuss  !  The  whole  pack  of  them 
Temples,  he  an'  she  of  'em,  big  an'  little  of  'em, 
ought  to  be  strung  up  on  the  firs'  tree !  The  low- 
down  bunch  of  little  prairie  dawgs,  tryin'  to  trap 
a  Packard  with  puttin'  a  putty-faced  fool  girl  in 
their  snare.  I  say,  Guy  Little,  I'll  make  the 
whole  crowd  of  'em  hunt  their  holes  ! " 

And  he  hurled  his  pipe  from  him  so  that  on 
the  hearthstone  it  broke  into  many  pieces. 

Now  that  was  a  long  speech  for  old  man  Pack- 
ard and  Guy  Little  listened  interestedly.  At  the 
end,  when  the  old  man  went  growling  back  to  his 
chair,  the  mechanician  took  up  his  tale. 

"She's  purty,  though,"  he  maintained.  "Like 
a  picture !" 

"Doll-faced,"  snorted  the  old  man,  who  had  not 
the  least  idea  what  Terry  Temple  looked  like,  not 

193 


Man  to  Man 

having  laid  his  eyes  on  her  for  the  matter  of  years. 
"Dumpy,  pudgy,  squidge-nosed  little  fool.  I'll 
run  both  her  and  her  thief  of  a  father  out  of  the 
country." 

"An',"  continued  Guy  Little,  "I  didn't  exac'ly 
say,  m'lord,  as  how  this  Terry  Temple  party  was 
after  him.  I  said  as  how  he  was  after  her !  That  is, 
as  how,  roundin'  out  what  I  know  about  him,  he's 
got  a  eye  for  a  fine-lookin'  lady.  Which,  against 
argyment,  I  maintain  that  Terry  Temple  girl  is." 

"Guy  Little,"  cried  Packard  sharply,  "you're 
a  fool !  Maybe  you  know  all  there  is  about  motor- 
cars an*  gasoline.  When  it  comes  to  females 
you're  a  fool." 

"Ah,  m'lord,  not  so!"  protested  Guy  Little, 
a  gleam  in  his  eye  like  a  faint  flicker  from  a  dead 
fire.  "There  was  a  time — before  I  set  these 
hoofs  of  mine  into  the  wanderin'  trail — when " 

The  rest  might  best  be  left  entirely  to  the  im- 
agination and  there  he  left  it.  But  the  old  man 
was  all  untouched  by  his  henchman's  utterance 
and  innuendoed  boast  for  the  simple  reason  that 
he  had  heard  nothing  of  it. 

"Those  Temple  hounds,"  he  muttered,  star- 
ing at  Guy  Little  who  stared  butlerishly  back, 
"are  leeches,  parasites,  cursed  bloodsuckers  and 
hangers-on.  They  think  I'm  goin'  to  take  this 

194 


The  Man-Breaker  at  Home 

boy  in  an'  give  him  all  I  got;  they  think  they  see 
a  chance  to  marry  him  into  their  rotten  crowd 
an'  slip  one  over  on  me  this  way !  That  simperin', 
gigglin'  fool  of  a  girl  try  an'  hook  my  gran'son ! 
Fll  show  'em,  Guy  Little;  I'll  show  the  whole 
cussed  pack  of  'em !  I'll  exterminate  'em,  root 
an'  branch  an'  withered  leaf!  By  the  Lord,  but 
I'll  go  get  'em!" 

"He'll  do  it,"  nodded  Guy  Little,  addressing 
the  invisible  third  party  in  order  not  to  directly 
interrupt  his  patron's  flow  of  words. 

But  for  a  little  the  old  man  was  silent,  running 
his  calloused  fingers  nervously  through  his  beard, 
frowning  into  the  dusk  thickening  over  the  world 
outside.  When  he  spoke  again  it  was  softly, 
thoughtfully,  almost  tenderly.  And  the  words 
were  these: 

"  Break  a  fool  an'  make  a  man,  Guy  Little ! 
That's  what  we're  goin'  to  do  for  Stephen  Pack- 
ard. He's  always  had  too  much  money,  had  life 
too  easy.  We'll  jus'  nacherally  bust  him  all  to 
pieces;  we'll  learn  him  the  big  lesson  of  life;  we'll 
make  a  man  out'n  him  yet.  An'  when  that's 
done,  Guy  Little,  when  that  time  comes —  Go 
send  Blenham  here,"  he  broke  off  with  sharp 
abruptness. 

Guy  Little  achieved  his  stage  bow  and  departed. 

195 


Man  to  Man 

The  door  only  half  closed  behind  him,  he  was 
shouting  at  the  top  of  his  voice: 

"Hey,  Blenham!  Oh,  Blenham!  On  the 
jump.  Packard  wants  you!" 

The  door  slammed  behind  him.  His  back 
once  turned  on  "nVlord,"  Guy  Little  did  not 
wait  to  get  out  of  earshot  to  become  less  butler 
than  human  sparrow. 

Blenham  needed  but  the  one  summons  and 
that  might  almost  have  been  whispered.  He 
was  fidgeting  in  his  own  room,  waiting  for  this 
moment,  knowing  that  he  was  to  receive  definite 
instructions  concerning  Stephen  Packard.  Over 
his  right  eye  was  a  patch;  his  face  was  still  a  sickly 
pallor;  his  one  good  eye  burned  with  a  sullen 
flame  which  never  went  out. 

Guy  Little  was  the  one  human  being  in  the 
world  with  whom  the  old  man  talked  freely,  to 
whom  he  unburdened  himself.  With  his  chief 
lieutenant  Blenham  he  was,  as  with  other  men, 
short,  crisp-worded,  curt.  Now,  seeming  to  take 
no  stock  of  Blenham's  disfigurement,  in  a  dozen 
snapping  sentences  he  issued  his  orders. 

Their  gist  was  plain.  Blenham  was  to  go  the 
limit  to  accomplish  two  purposes:  the  minor  one 
of  making  the  world  a  dreary  place  for  certain 
scoundrels,  name  of  Temple;  the  major  one  of 


The  Man-Breaker  at  Home 

utterly  breaking  Steve  Packard.  When  Blen- 
ham  went  out  and  to  his  own  room  again  the  sul- 
len fire  in  his  good  eye  burned  more  brightly,  as 
though  with  fresh  fuel. 

A  little  later  Guy  Little  returned,  lighted  the 
lamps,  made  a  small  fire  in  the  big  fireplace,  and 
ignoring  the  presence  of  his  master,  went  to  stand 
in  front  of  the  high  book-shelves.  After  a  long 
time  he  got  the  step-ladder  and  placed  it,  climbed 
to  the  top,  and  squatted  there  in  front  of  his 
favorite  section.  Ultimately  he  drew  down  a 
volume  with  many  colored  illustrations;  it  was 
a  tale  of  love,  its  mise  en  scene  the  mansions  of  the 
lords  and  ladies  whose  adventures  occurred  in 
that  atmosphere  of  romance  which  had  captivated 
the  soul  of  Guy  Little. 

When  he  climbed  down  and  sought  the  big 
chair  in  which  he  would  curl  up  to  read  and  chew 
countless  sticks  of  gum,  chewing  fast  when  the 
action  hurried,  slowly  when  there  was  the  dramatic 
pause,  stopping  often  with  mouth  wide  open 
when  tense  and  breathless  interest  held  him,  he 
discovered  that  the  old  man  had  gone  out. 

Guy  Little  pursed  his  lips.  Then  he  went  to 
the  recently  vacated  leather  chair.  Not  to  sit 
in  it;  merely  to  draw  out  the  little  volume  from 
under  the  cushion. 

197 


Man  to  Man 

"'  Lyrics  from  Tennyson,"  he  read  aloud. 
"What  the  devil  are  them  things?" 

He  turned  the  pages. 

"Pomes!"  he  grunted  in  disgust. 

Whereupon  he  carried  his  own  book  to  his  own 
chair.  But,  beginning  to  turn  the  pages,  he 
stopped  and  looked  up  wonderingly. 

"Funny  ol'  duck,"  he  mused.  "Here  I've 
knowed  him  all  these  years  an'  I  never  guessed 
he  read  pomes!" 

He  shook  his  head,  admitted  to  himself  that  the 
"ol'  duck"  was  a  keen  ol'  cuss,  returned  to  his 
book,  began  stripping  the  paper  from  the  first 
stick  of  gum,  and  knew  no  more  of  what  went  on 
about  him. 


198 


CHAPTER  XV 

AT   THE    FALLEN    LOG 

SINCE  the  hill  ranch  operated  by  the  Temples 
and  the  Packard  Ranch  Number  Ten  had 
over  two  miles  of  common  border-line,  it  was  un- 
avoidable that  Steve  and  Terry  should  meet  fre- 
quently. Truly  unavoidable  since  further  they 
were  both  young,  Terry  as  pretty  as  the  proverbial 
picture,  Steve  the  type  to  stick  somehow  in  such 
a  girl's  mind.  She  turned  up  her  nose  at  him; 
she  gave  him  a  fine  view  of  her  back;  but  in  rid- 
ing her  father's  range  she  let  her  eyes  travel  curi- 
ously across  the  line. 

For  his  part  Steve,  seeing  where  some  of  his 
calves  had  invaded  Temple  property,  followed  the 
errant  calves  himself  instead  of  sending  one  of 
his  men.  And  as  he  rode  he  was  apt  to  forget 
his  strayed  cattle  as  he  watched  through  the  trees 
for  a  fluttering,  gay-hued  scarf. 

Certainly  of  girls  and  women  he  had  known  she 
was  the  most  refreshing;  certainly  she  was  the 
prettiest  after  an  undeniably  saucy  style.  And 
life  here  of  late,  with  Blenham  and  Woods  gone 
and  unheard  from,  was  a  quiet,  uneventful  affair. 

199 


Man  to  Man 

Terry,  for  her  part,  told  herself  and  any  one 
else  who  cared  to  listen,  that  he  was  a  Packard, 
hence  to  be  distrusted,  avoided,  considered  as 
beneath  a  white  person's  notice.  His  breed  were 
all  crooked.  Sired  and  grandsired  by  precious 
scoundrels,  he  was  but  what  was  to  be  expected. 
And  yet 

For  "yets"  and  "ifs"  and  "howevers"  had  al- 
ready begun  to  intrude,  befogging  many  a  con- 
sideration hitherto  clear  as  cut  glass.  He  had 
not  lied  about  a  horse  being  shot  under  him;  he 
had  been  party  to  Blenham's  departure  from  the 
ranch;  he  had  been  man  enough  in  Red  Creek 
to  whip  Joe  Woods;  and,  single-handed,  he  had 
driven  a  crew  of  rough-and-ready  timber  jacks  off 
his  property. 

Further,  it  was  undeniable  that  he  had  a  good- 
natured  grin,  that  his  eyes  though  inclined  either 
to  be  stern  or  else  to  laugh  at  her,  were  frank  and 
steady,  that  he  made  a  figure  that  fitted  well  in 
the  eye  of  a  girl  like  Terry  Temple. 

"Oh,  the  Packards  are  men,"  said  Terry  be- 
grudgingly,  "even  if  they  are  pirates!" 

This  to  her  father  and,  it  is  to  be  suspected, 
for  her  father's  sake.  For,  despite  the  girl's 
valiantly  repeated  hope  that  Temple  "would 
come  back  yet"  and  be  again  the  man  he  once 
was,  he  seemed  in  fact  to  grow  more  shiftless  day 

200 


At  the  Fallen  Log 

after  day,  communing  long  over  his  fireplace  with 
his  drink,  passing  from  one  degree  to  another  of 
untidiness.  He  made  her  "feel  just  like  scream- 
ing and  running  around  the  house  breaking 
things"  at  times. 

"You  are  impatient,  my  dear,"  said  Temple 
as  one  speaking  to  a  very  young  child.  "And 
there  are  matters  which  you  don't  understand; 
which  I  cannot  even  discuss  with  you.  But," 
and  he  winked  very  slyly,  less  at  Terry  than  just 
in  a  general  acknowledgment  of  his  own  acumen, 
"you  just  wait  a  spell!  I've  got  somethin'  up 

my  sleeve — somethin'  that Oh,  you  just 

wait,  my  dear!" 

Terry  sniffed. 

"I  ought  to  be  pretty  good  at  waiting  by  now," 
she  told  him,  little  impressed.  "And  if  you  have 
anything  up  your  sleeve  besides  the  flabby  arm 
of  a  do-nothing,  then  it  must  be  another  bottle  of 
whiskey !  You  can't  flim-flam  me,  dad,  and  you 
ought  to  know  it." 

She  whisked  out  of  the  house,  her  face  reddened 
with  vexation,  a  sudden  moisture  in  her  eyes. 
It  took  all  of  the  fortitude  she  could  summon 
into  her  dauntless  little  bosom  to  maintain  after 
days  like  this  that  there  was  still  a  "come-back" 
left  in  her  father. 

In  an  hour  made  fragrant  by  the  resinous  odors 
201 


Man  to  Man 

of  the  upland  pines  and  the  freshly  liberated  per- 
fumes of  the  little  white  evening  flowers  thick 
in  the  meadows,  Terry  on  her  favorite  horse 
went  flashing  through  the  long  shadows  of  the 
late  afternoon,  riding  as  Terry  always  rode  when 
her  breast  was  tumultuous  and  her  temper  rising. 

The  recently  imported  Japanese  cook  and  house- 
boy  peered  out  after  her  from  his  kitchen  window, 
his  eyes  actually  losing  their  Oriental  cast  and 
growing  round;  a  trick,  this,  of  Iki's  whenever 
Terry  came  into  his  view. 

"Part  bird,"  mused  Iki,  "part  flower,  big  part 
wild  devil-girl!  Oof!  Nice  to  look  at,  but  for 
wife  Japonee  girl  more  better.  Think  so." 

Little  by  little  as  she  rode,  letting  her  horse 
out  until  she  fairly  raced  through  the  fields  and 
into  the  woods  beyond,  the  pitiful  picture  of  her 
father  faded  from  her  mind.  As  the  vision 
dimmed  of  Temple's  shoddiness  in  his  worn- 
out  slippers  another  image  formed  in  Terry's 
jnind;  an  image  which  was  there  more  than  the 
girl  had  as  yet  come  to  realize. 

Yes,  as  types  the  Packards  were  all  right;  how 
many  times  had  she  admitted  that  to  herself? 
But  as  individuals  .  .  .  Oh,  how  she  hated 
them !  And  to-day,  for  some  reason  not  clearly 
defined  in  Terry's  consciousness,  she  found  it 
convenient  to  assure  herself  with  new  emphasis 

202 


At  the  Fallen  Log 

that  she  hated  and  despised  the  Packards  with  a 
growing  detestation,  and  from  this  point  to  go 
on  and  inform  Miss  Teresa  Temple  exactly  why 
she  looked  on  those  of  the  Packard  blood  just  as 
she  did. 

She  summoned  a  host  of  reasons,  set  them  in 
ranks  like  so  many  soldiers  to  wage  war  for  her, 
marshalled  and  deployed  and  reviewed  and  dress- 
paraded  them,  and  found  them  all  eminently  satis- 
factory mercenaries. 

There  was  one  reason  which  she  thrust  into  the 
background,  seeking  to  keep  it  hidden  behind 
the  serried  ranks  of  its  brothers-in-arms.  And 
yet  it  insisted  in  mutinous  fashion  on  pushing  to 
the  fore.  Seeking  to  consider  the  Packards  en 
masse,  as  a  curse  rather  than  as  individuals,  she 
found  that  she  was  remembering  Steve  Packard 
rather  vividly. 

In  the  outward  seeming  Steve  Packard  was 
a  gentleman;  he  had  that  vague  something  called 
culture;  he  bore  himself  with  the  assurance  and 
ease  of  one  who  knew  the  world;  he  had  been  to 
college — and  Terry  knew  nothing  more  of  school 
than  was  to  be  learned  at  a  country  high  school. 
Steve's  father  had  "broken"  her  father  finan- 
cially; had  such  not  been  the  fact  Terry  herself 
would  have  had  her  own  college  diploma  on  her 
wall;  Terry  would  have  known  something  more 

203 


Man  to  Man 

of  the  world  than  she  now  knew;  she  would  have 
been  "a  lady." 

"Oh,  pickles!"  cried  Terry  aloud,  bringing  her 
runaway  thoughts  to  a  sharp  halt.  "What  dif- 
ference does  it  make  if  he  knows  Latin  and  I 
don't  ?  And  a  hot  specimen  of  a  'lady'  I'd  make 
anyhow!" 

Over  a  ridge  she  flew,  the  low  sun  glistening 
from  her  spurs  and  the  polished  surfaces  of  her 
boot-tops,  down  into  the  dusk-filled  fragrance  of 
a  woodsy  canon,  into  the  mouth  of  a  silent  trail, 
around  a  wide  curve*  and  to  her  own  favorite 
spot  of  all  these  woods.  A  nook  of  haunting 
charm  with  its  sprawling  stream,  its  big-boled  and 
widely  scattered  trees,  its  grass  and  flowers. 
"Mossy  Dell,"  she  called  it,  having  borrowed  the 
name  from  an  old  romance  read  in  breathless 
fashion  in  her  room. 

Slipping  out  of  her  saddle  and  leaving  her 
horse  to  browse  if  such  pastime  suited  him, 
Terry  went  through  the  trees  and  down  along  the 
flashing  creek,  humming  softly,  her  voice  confused 
with  the  gurgle  of  the  noisy  little  stream,  her  eyes 
at  last  growing  content. 

She  was  half  smiling  at  some  shadowy  thought 
before  she  had  gone  twenty  paces;  she  tossed 
off  her  hat  and  let  it  lie,  meaning  to  come  back 
for  it  later;  she  unfastened  the  scarf  about  her 

204 


At  the  Fallen  Log 

neck,  baring  her  white  throat  to  the  hour's  cool 
invitation,  she  let  her  bronze-brown  hair  down  in 
two  loose,  curling  braids   across  her  shoulders, 
toying  with  the  ends  as  she  went. 

Coming  here  at  troubled  moments  altered  the 
girl's  mood  very  much  as  an  hour  in  a  quiet 
cathedral  may  soothe  the  soul  of  the  orthodox. 

A  little  further  on,  lying  across  the  stream  and 
just  around  another  bend,  was  a  great  fallen  cedar, 
its  giant  trunk  eight  or  ten  feet  through  at  the 
base.  Approximately  it  marked  the  border-line 
between  the  Temple  Ranch  and  Ranch  Number 
Ten;  it  was  quite  as  though  the  wilderness  itself 
had  cast  down  the  big  tree  across  an  old  trail  to 
indicate  a  line  which  must  not  be  crossed. 

Upon  the  top  of  this  supine  woodland  monarch 
Terry  was  accustomed  to  sit,  her  back  against  one 
of  the  big  limbs,  her  heels  kicking  at  the  mossy 
sides,  while  she  glanced  back  and  forth  from 
Temple  property  to  Packard  land  and  told  her- 
self how  much  finer  was  her  side  than  the  other. 

Just  where  the  tree  had  fallen  the  creek-bed 
was  rocky  and  uneven;  the  water  eddied  and 
whirled  and  plunged  noisily  into  its  pools.  Terry, 
clambering  up  from  her  side  of  the  big  log,  heard 
only  the  shouting  of  the  brook.  She  grasped  the 
dead  branches,  pulled  herself  up,  slipped  a  little, 
got  a  new  foothold;  Terry's  head,  her  face  flushed 

205 


Man  to  Man 

rosily,  her  eyes  never  brighter,  popped  up  on  one 
side  of  the  log  just  in  time  with  the  tick  of  her 
destiny's  clock. 

That  is  to  say  just  as  Steve  Packard,  climbing 
up  from  the  other  side,  thrust  his  head  up  above 
the  top.  An  astonished  grunt  from  Steve  who  in 
the  first  start  of  the  encounter  came  close  to  fall- 
ing backward;  a  little  choking  ejaculation  from 
Terry  whose  eyes  widened  wonderfully — and  the 
two  of  them  settled  silently  into  their  places  on 
the  cedar  and  stared  at  each  other.  Some  three 
or  four  feet  only  lay  between  the  brim  of  Steve's 
hat  and  Terry's  upturned  nose. 

"Well  ?"  demanded  Terry  stiffly. 

"Well?"  countered  Steve. 

He  regarded  her  very  gravely.  He  had  never 
had  a  girl  materialize  this  way  out  of  space  and 
his  own  thoughts.  This  sudden  confronting  sa- 
vored of  the  supernatural;  for  the  moment  it 
set  him  aback  and  he  was  content  to  stare  won- 
deringly  into  the  sweet  gray  eyes  so  near  his  own 
and  to  take  note  of  the  curve  of  her  lips,  the  red- 
ness of  them,  the  dimple  which,  though  departed 
now  and,  he  felt,  in  hiding,  had  left  a  hint  of 
itself  behind  in  its  hasty  flight. 

"If  there's  one  thing  I  hate  worse  than  a  po- 
tato-bug," said  Terry,  "it's  a  fresh  guy!  Think 
you're  funny,  don't  you  ?" 

206 


Terry's  head,  her  face  flushed  rosily,  her  eyes  never  brighter, 
popped  up  on  one  side  of  the  log 


At  the  Fallen  Log 

"Fresh?    Funny?" 

He  lifted  his  eyebrows.  And  then,  her  sus- 
picion clear  to  him,  his  gravity  departed  the  way 
Terry's  dimple  had  gone  and  he  put  back  his 
head  and  laughed.  Laughed  while  the  girl  with 
deepening  color  and  darkening  eyes  looked  at  him 
indignantly. 

"Think  I  did  that  on  purpose?"  he  cried  in 
vast  good  nature.  "That  I  was  spying  on  you  ? 
That  I  waited  until  you  started  to  climb  up  here 
and  that  then  I  popped  my  head  up  just  at  the 
same  time?  All  on  purpose?" 

"That's  just  exactly  what  I  do  think!"  Terry 
told  him  hotly.  "You — you  big  smarty !  Every- 
where I  go,  have  you  got  to  keep  showing  up  ?" 

"I'll  tell  you  something,"  said  Steve.  "If  I 
had  climbed  up  here  just  to  give  you  a  little  sur- 
prise party;  if  I  had  known  you  were  there  and 
that  I  could  have  poked  my  head  up  just  as  you 
did  yours — know  what  I  would  have  done?" 

"What?"  Terry  in  her  curiosity  condescended 
to  ask. 

"I'd  have  kissed  the  prettiest  girl  I  ever  saw!" 
he  chuckled.  "Honest  to  grandma!  That's  just 
what  I'd  have  done.  As  it  was,  you  half  scared 
me  out  of  my  wits;  I  came  as  close  as  y&u  please 
to  going  over  backward  and  breaking  my  neck." 

"Not  as  close  as  I  please.  And  as  for  kissing 
207 


Man  to  Man 

me,  Long  Steve  Packard,  you  just  try  that  on 
sometime  when  you  want  your  face  slapped  good 
and  hard  and  a  bullet  pumped  into  you  besides !" 

"Mean  it?"  grinned  Steve. 

"I  most  certainly  do,"  she  retorted  emphati- 
cally. 

"Offered  merely  as  information?"  he  wanted 
to  know.  "Or  as  a  dare  ?  Or  an  invitation  ?" 

When  she  did  not  reply  at  once  but  contented 
herself  by  putting  a  deal  of  eloquence  into  a 
look — which,  by  the  way,  had  no  visible  effect 
upon  his  rising  good  humor — he  went  on  to  re- 
mark: 

"If  you  just  slapped  my  face  it  would  be  worth 
it.  If  you  just  shot  me  through  the  finger-nail 
or  something  like  that,  it  would  be  worth  it  still." 
He  examined  her  critically.  "  Even  if  you  plugged 
me  square  through  the  thumb " 

"If  you  don't  know  it,"  she  informed  him 
aloofly,  "you  are  trespassing  right  now  where 
you  are  not  wanted.  The  sooner  you  trail  your 
big  feet  off  Temple  land  the  better  I'll  like  it !" 

"Temple  land  ?  Since  when  was  a  tree  con- 
sidered as  land,  Miss  Teresa  Arriega  Temple?" 

"Think  that's  funny?"  she  scoffed. 

"And  besides,"  he  continued,  "the  tree  is  on 
Packard  property.  See  that  old  pine  stump  over 
yonder  ?  And  that  big  rock  there  ?  Those  things 

208 


At  the  Fallen  Log 

mark  the  boundary-line  and  you'll  notice  we're  on 
my  side !" 

Terry's  temper  flamed  higher  in  her  eyes,  flashed 
hotter  in  her  cheeks. 

"We  are  not !  And  you  know  we  are  not ! 
The  line  runs  yonder,  just  beyond  that  big  white 
rock  on  the  creek-bank.  And  you  are  a  good  ten 
feet  on  my  side.  Where,  if  you  please,  you  are 
not  wanted." 

"That  isn't  a  pretty  enough  thought  to  bear 
repetition,"  he  offered  genially.  "Look  here, 
Terry  Temple,  what's  the  use " 

"Are  you  going  ?  Or  do  you  intend  just  to 
squat  there  like  a  toad  and  spoil  the  view  for  me  ?" 

"Toads  are  fat  animals,"  he  corrected  her. 
"I'm  not.  More  like  a  bullfrog,  if  you  like. 
What  am  I  going  to  do?  Why,  just  squat,  I 
guess." 

As  he  leaned  back  against  the  limb  which 
offered  its  support  to  his  shoulders  Terry  noted 
that  he  wore  in  full  sight  at  his  side  the  heavy 
Colt  he  had  bought  the  other  night  in  Red  Creek. 
A  new  habit,  with  Steve  Packard. 

"Gunman,  are  you?"  she  jeered.  "I  might 
have  known  it.  Gunmen  are  all  cowards." 

He  sighed. 

"You  can  be  the  most  irritating  young  lady  I 
ever  met.  And  why  ?  What  have  I  ever  done 

209 


Man  to  Man 

to  you — besides  save  you  from  drowning  ?  Since 
we  are  neighbors,  why  not  be  good  friends  ?  By 
the  way,  where  do  you  carry  your  gun  ?" 

"It's  different  with  a  girl,"  she  said  bluntly. 
"There's  some  excuse  for  her.  With  the  kind 
that's  filling  the  woods  lately  she's  apt  to  need 


it." 


"And  you  wouldn't  be  afraid  to  use  it  ?" 

"I'm  not  here  to  chin  with  you  all  day,"  ob- 
served Terry  coolly.  "And  you  haven't  told  me 
what  you're  doing  on  my  land." 

"Your  land  ?"  he  demanded. 

"On  my  side  of  the  line,  then." 

He  considered  the  question. 

"I'm  here  to  meet  some  one,"  he  answered 
finally. 

"I  like  your  nerve!  Arranging  to  meet  your 
friends  here !  Steve  Packard,  you  are  the — 
the— the " 

"Go  on,"  he  prompted.  "You'll  need  a  cuss- 
word  now;  any  other  finish  will  sound  flat." 

"—the  Packardest  Packard  I  ever  heard  of!" 
she  concluded.  "You  and  your  friend " 

"No  more  my  friend  than  he  is  yours,"  he  said, 
interrupting  her.  "An  individual  named  Blen- 
ham.  And  I'm  not  here  so  much  to  meet  him 
as — let's  say  to  head  him  off." 

Terry  set  it  down  that,  since  it  was  next  to 
210 


At  the  Fallen  Log 

impossible  at  any  time  for  a  Packard  to  speak 
the  truth,  he  was  just  lying  to  her  for  the  sake  of 
the  devious  exercise.  As  she  was  on  the  point 
of  saying  emphatically  when  Steve  said  "Sh!" 
and  pointed.  She  heard  a  breaking  of  brush  and 
saw  the  horns  of  a  steer;  the  animal  was  coming 
into  the  trail  from  the  Packard  side. 

"You  just  watch,"  whispered  Steve.  "And 
sit  right  still.  It  won't  do  you  any  harm  to  know 
what's  going  on." 

The  big  steer  broke  through  into  the  trail, 
stopped  and  sniffed,  and  then  came  on  up  the 
stream.  Behind  came  another  and  another, 
emerging  from  the  shadows,  passing  through  the 
swiftly  fading  light  of  the  open,  gone  again  into 
the  shadows  that  lay  over  the  wooded  Temple 
acreage.  In  all  nine  big  fat  steers.  And  behind 
them,  sitting  loosely  in  his  saddle,  came  Blen- 
ham. 

Only  when  the  last  steer  had  crossed  the  line 
did  Steve  rise  suddenly,  standing  upright  on  the 
great  log,  his  hands  on  his  hips.  Terry  looking 
up  into  his  face  saw  that  all  of  the  good  humor 
had  gone  from  it  and  that  there  was  something 
ominous  in  the  darkening  of  his  eyes. 

"Hold  on,  Blenham!"  he  called. 

Blenham  drew  a  quick  rein. 

"That  you,  Packard  ?"  he  asked  quietly. 
211 


Man  to  Man 

"It  is,"  answered  Steve  briefly.  "On  the  job, 
too,  Blenham.  All  the  time." 

Blenham  laughed. 

"So  it  seems,"  he  said,  his  look  like  his  tone 
eloquent  of  an  innuendo  which  embraced  Terry 
evilly.  "If  you're  invitin'  me  to  join  your  little 
party,  I  ain't  got  the  time.  Thanks  jus'  the 


same." 


Since  one's  consciousness  may  harbor  several 
clear-cut  impressions  simultaneously,  Steve  Pack- 
ard, while  he  was  thinking  of  other  matters,  felt 
that  never  until  this  moment  had  he  hated  Blen- 
ham properly;  no,  nor  respected  him  as  it  would 
be  the  part  of  wisdom  to  do. 

The  man's  glance  running  over  Terry  Tem- 
ple's girlishness  was  like  the  crawling  of  a  slug 
over  a  wild  flower  and  supplied  a  new  and  per- 
haps the  key-note  to  Blenham's  ugliness.  It 
was  borne  in  upon  Steve  that  his  grandfather's 
lieutenant  was  bad,  absolutely  bad;  that,  old 
adages  to  the  contrary  notwithstanding,  here  was 
a  character  with  not  a  hint  of  redemption  in  it; 
after  the  Packard  outright  way,  this  youngest 
Packard  was  ready  to  condemn  out  of  hand. 

And  further,  to  all  of  this  Steve  marked  how 
Blenham  had  drawn  a  quick  rein  but  had  shown 
no  tremor  of  uneasiness;  had  considered  that 
though  the  man  had  been  taken  completely  by 

212 


At  the  Fallen  Log 

surprise  he  had  given  no  sign  of  being  startled,  but 
had  answered  a  sharp  summons  with  a  cool,  quiet 
voice.  So,  summing  it  up,  here  was  one  to  be 
hated  and  watched. 

"What  are  you  doing  on  my  land,  Blenham?" 
asked  Steve  sharply.  "And  where  are  you  driv- 
ing those  steers  ?" 

Blenham  eased  himself  in  his  saddle,  drew  his 
broad  hat  lower  over  his  eyes;  thus  he  partly 
hid  the  patch  which  he  had  worn  since  he  came 
from  the  doctor's  hands. 

"I  ain't  on  your  land  any  more,"  he  returned. 
"An'  as  for  them  steers — what's  it  to  you,  any- 
how?" 

Open  defiance  was  one  thing  Steve  had  not 
looked  for. 

"Looking  for  more  trouble  yet,  Blenham?" 
he  asked  briefly. 

Blenham  shrugged. 

"I'm  tendin'  to  business,"  he  said  slowly. 
"No,  I'm  not  lookin'  for  trouble — yet.  Since 
you  want  to  know,  I'm  hazin'  them  cow-brutes 
the  shortes'  way  off'n  Number  Ten  an'  on  to 
the  North  Trail.  I'm  puttin'  'em  on  the  trot 
to  the  Big  Bend  ranch  where  they  happen  to 
belong." 

Steve  lifted  his  brows,  for  the  moment  wonder- 
ing. Blenham  was  not  waiting  for  pitch  dark  to 

213 


Man  to  Man 

move  these  steers;  he  manifested  no  alarm  at 
being  discovered;  now  he  calmly  admitted  that 
he  was  driving  them  to  old  man  Packard's  ranch 
where  they  belonged.  It  was  possible  that  he 
was  right. 

In  the  few  weeks  that  he  had  been  back  Steve 
had  not  had  the  time  to  know  every  head  on  his 
wide-scattered  acreage;  as  the  steers  had  trotted 
through  the  shadows  and  into  the  open  his  eyes 
had  been  less  for  them  than  for  the  coming  of 
Blenham  and  he  was  not  sure  of  the  brands. 

He  felt  that  Terry's  eyes,  as  Terry  sat  very  still 
on  her  log,  were  steadily  upon  him. 

"Blenham,"  he  said  curtly,  "I  don't  know  whose 
cattle  those  are.  But  I  do  know  this  much:  If 
they  are  mine  I  am  going  to  have  them  back;  if 
they  are  not  mine  I  am  going  to  have  them  back 
just  the  same." 

"How  do  you  make  that  out?"  demanded 
Blenham. 

"I  make  out  that  neither  you  nor  any  other 
man  has  any  business  driving  stock  off  my  range 
without  consulting  me  first." 

"They're  Big  Bend  cows,"  muttered  Blen- 
ham. "The  ol'  man's  orders " 

"Curse  the  old  man's  orders!"  Steve's  voice 
Bang  out  angrily.  "If  he  can't  be  decent  to  me, 

214 


At  the  Fallen  Log 

can't  he  at  least  let  me  alone  ?  Need  he  send  you 
here  to  do  business  with  me  ?  If  you  want 
orders,  Blenham,  you  just  take  these  from  me: 
Ride  back  to  the  old  man  on  Big  Bend  ranch  and 
tell  him  that  what  stock  is  on  my  ranch  I  keep  here 
until  he  can  prove  it  is  his  !  Understand  ?  If  he 
can  prove  that  these  steers  belong  to  him — and 
I  don't  believe  he  can  and  you  can  tell  him  that, 
too — why  then,  let  him  send  me  the  money  to 
pay  for  their  pasturage  and  he  can  have  them. 
And  in  the  meantime,  Mr.  Blenham,  get  out  and 
be  damned  to  you  !" 

For  the  moment  Steve  lost  all  thought  of  Terry 
sitting  very  still  so  close  to  him,  his  mind  filled 
with  his  grandfather  and  his  grandfather's  chosen 
tool.  So  when  he  thought  that  he  heard  the  sus- 
picion of  a  stifled  giggle,  a  highly  amused  and 
vastly  delighted  little  giggle,  he  was  for  the  in- 
stant of  the  opinion  that  Blenham  was  laughing 
at  him. 

But  the  intruder  was  all  seriousness.  He  sat 
motionless,  his  glance  stony,  his  thought  veiled, 
his  one  good  eye  giving  no  more  hint  of  his  pur- 
pose than  did  the  patch  over  the  other  eye.  In 
the  end  he  shrugged. 

"My  orders,"  he  said  finally,  "was  simply  to 
haze  them  steers  back  to  the  Big  Bend.  The  ol' 

215 


Man  to  Man 

man  didn't  say  nothin'  about  startin'  anything  if 
you  got  unreasonable."  Again  he  shrugged  elab- 
orately. "I'll  come  again  if  he  says  so,"  he 
concluded  and,  jabbing  his  spurs  viciously  into 
his  horse's  flanks,  his  sole  sign  of  irritation, 
Blenham  rode  away  through  the  woods. 

"He  let  go  too  easy,"  murmured  Terry.  "He's 
got  a  card  in  the  hole  yet." 

Her  eyes  followed  the  departing  rider,  she  pursed 
her  lips  after  him. 

Steve  turned  and  looked  down  upon  her. 

"I  hope  you  don't  mind  if  I  trespass  to  the  ex- 
tent of  riding  after  those  steers  ?"  he  offered.  "I 
want  to  drive  them  back  and  at  the  same  time  I 
don't  mind  making  sure  that  Blenham  is  still  on 
his  way." 

Terry  regarded  him  long  and  searchingly. 

"Go  ahead,"  she  said  at  last.  And,  as  though 
an  explanation  were  necessary,  she  continued: 
"There's  just  one  animal  I  hate  worse  than  I  do  a 
Packard !  For  once  the  fence  is  down  between 
you  and  Temple  land,  Steve  Packard." 

"Let's  keep  it  down!"  he  said  impulsively. 
"You  and  I " 

"No,  thanks !"  Terry  rose  swiftly  to  ner  feet, 
balancing  on  her  log,  reminding  him  oddly  of  a 
bright  bird  about  to  take  flight.  "You  just  re- 

216 


At  the  Fallen  Log 

member  that  there's  just  one  animal  I  hate  almost 
as  much  as  I  do  Blenham;  and  that  that's  a 
Packard." 

And  so  she  jumped  down  from  the  log  and  left 
him. 


217 


CHAPTER  XVI 

TERRY  DEFIES    BLENHAM 

BLENHAM  must  have  ridden  late  into  the 
night.  For  at  a  very  early  hour  the  next 
morning  he  was  at  the  Big  Bend  ranch  fifty  miles 
to  the  north  and  reporting  to  his  employer. 
Early  as  it  was,  the  old  man  had  breakfasted,  and 
now  the  wide  black  hat  far  back  on  his  head,  the 
spurs  on  his  big  boots,  bespoke  his  readiness  to  be 
riding. 

At  times  he  stood  stock-still,  his  hands  on  his 
hips,  staring  down  at  Blenham's  lesser  stature; 
at  other  times  and  in  a  deep,  thoughtful  silence  he 
strode  back  and  forth  in  the  great  barn-like  li- 
brary, his  spurs  jingling. 

"Why,  burn  it,  man,"  he  exploded  once  during 
the  fore  part  of  the  interview,  "the  boy  is  a  Pack- 
ard !  I'm  proud  of  him.  We're  going  to  make  a 
real  man  out  of  Stephen  yet.  Haven't  I  said  the 
words  a  dozen  tirr^s:  *  Break  a  fool  an'  make  a 
man !'  I'm  tellin'  you,  the  las'  Packard  to  be 
spoiled  by  havin'  too  much  easy  money  has  lived 
an'  died.  All  we  got  to  do  with  Stephen  is  put 
him  on  foot;  set  him  down  in  the  good  ol'-fash- 

218 


Terry  Defies  Blenham 

ioned  dirt  where  he's  got  to  work  for  what  he  gets, 
an'  he'll  come  through.  Same  as  I  did.  Yessir !" 

Blenham  waited  for  his  signal  to  continue  his 
report,  and  when  he  got  it,  a  look  and  a  nod,  he 
resumed,  face,  voice,  and  eye  alike  expressionless 
of  any  personal  interest  in  the  matter. 

"You  know  them  nine  big  steers  as  strayed 
from  here  some  time  ago  ?  I  tol'  you  about  'em 
two  or  three  weeks  ago  ?  Well,  I  found  'em  like 
I  said  I  would,  all  nine  of  'em,  an'  on  Ranch 
Number  Ten." 

"It's  quite  a  way  for  cattle  to  stray,"  said  the 
old  man  sharply.  Blenham  shrugged  carelessly. 

"Oh,  I  dunno,"  he  returned  lightly.  "I've 
knowed  'em  to  go  fu'ther  than  that.  Well,  I 
made  a  pass  to  haze  'em  on  back  this  way  an' 
young  Packard  blocks  my  play." 

The  old  man's  eye  brightened. 

"What  did  he  say  ?"  he  asked  eagerly. 

"He  said,"  said  Blenham,  picking  at  his  hat- 
band, "as  how  if  the  stock  was  yours  which  he 
didn't  believe  he'd  hold  'em  until  you  sent  over 
enough  coin  to  pay  for  their  feed.  He  said  as 
how,  if  you  couldn't  be  decent  you  better  anyhow 
leave  him  alone.  He  said  hell  with  both  of 


us.' 


"He  did  ?"  cried  old  Packard.     "He  said  that, 
Blenham?" 

219 


Man  to  Man 

"He  did,"  answered  Blenham  with  a  quick, 
curious,  sidewise  glance. 

Packard's  big  hand  was  lifted  and  came  down 
mightily  upon  his  thigh  as,  suddenly  released,  the 
old  man's  voice  boomed  out  in  a  great  peal  of 
laughter. 

"Ho!"  he  cried,  shouting  out  the  words  to 
be  heard  far  out  across  the  open  meadow.  "Say 
to  hell  with  me,  does  he  ?  Holds  my  stock  for 
pasture  money,  does  he  ?  Defies  me  to  do  my 
worst,  him  a  young,  penniless  whippersnapper, 
me  a  millionaire  an'  a  man-breaker!  Why, 
curse  it,  he's  a  man  already,  Blenham !  He's  a 
Packard  to  his  backbone,  I  tell  you !  By  the 
Lord,  I've  a  notion  to  jump  into  my  car  and  go 
get  the  boy!" 

A  troubled  shadow  came  and  went  swiftly 
across  Blenham's  face,  not  to  be  seen  by  the  old 
man  who  was  staring  out  of  his  window.  All  of 
the  craft  there  was  in  the  ranch  foreman  rose  to  the 
surface. 

"Yes,"  he  agreed  quietly,  "he's  got  the  makin's 
in  him.  He  ain't  scared  of  the  devil  himself, 
which  is  one  right  good  earmark.  He's  inde- 
pendent, which  is  another  good  sign.  Why, 
when  I  runs  across  him  an'  that  Temple  girl  out 
in  the  woods " 

"What's  that!"  snapped  the  old  man,  though 
220 


Terry  Defies  Blenham 

he  had  heard  well  enough.     "Do  you  mean  to  tell 


"They  was  sittin'  on  top  a  big  log,"  said  Blen- 
ham tonelessly.  "Confidential  lookin',  you  know. 
I  won't  say  he  was  holdin'  her  hands,  an*  at  the 
same  time  I  won't  say  he  wasn't.  An'  I  won't  say 
he'd  jus'  kissed  her,  two  seconds  before  I  rode 
aroun'  a  bend  in  the  trail."  One  of  his  ponderous 
shrugs  and  a  grimace  concluded  his  meaning. 
Then  he  laughed.  "Nor  I  wouldn't  say  he  hadn't. 
But,  like  I  was  tellin'  you " 

"You  were  tellin'  me,"  growled  the  old  man, 
"that  that  scoundrel  of  a  Temple's  fool  of  a  girl 
is  tryin'  her  hand  at  spellbindin*  my  gran'son 
Stephen  !  The  dirty  little  saphead —  Look  here, 
Blenham;  you've  got  more  gumption  than  most: 
tell  me  how  far  things  have  gone  an'  what  Tem- 
ple's game  is.  Guy  Little  has  been  tellin'  me  the 
same  sort  of  thing." 

"There  ain't  much  to  tell,"  answered  Blen- 
ham. "That  is,  that  a  man  couldn't  guess  with- 
out bein'  told.  He's  your  gran'son;  even  with  a 
scrap  on  between  you  an'  him,  still  blood  is  thick- 
er'n  water  an'  some  day,  maybe,  you'll  pass  on  to 
him  all  you  got.  Leastways,  there's  a  chance,  an' 
also  he  oughta  fit  pretty  snug  in  a  girl's  eye. 
Fu'ther  to  all  that,  it's  jus*  the  same  ol'  story. 
A  feller  an'  a  girl,  an'  the  girl  with  a  fine  figger  an' 

221 


Man  to  Man 

a  fine  pair  of  eyes  which,  bein'  a  she-girl,  she  knows 
how  to  use.  Seein'  as  you  ask  the  question,  I  guess 
I  could  answer  it  by  jus'  say  in'  that  the  Temples 
are  makin'  the  one  move  they'd  be  sure  to  make." 

The  senior  Packard's  scowl  had  known  fame  as 
long  as  fifty  years  ago;  never  was  it  blacker  than 
right  now.  For  a  little  he  stood  still  glaring  at 
the  floor.  Blenham  watched  him  covertly,  a  look 
of  craft  in  the  one  good  eye. 

"Better  go  over  an'  see  Temple  right  away," 
said  Packard  presently.  "He  won't  be  able  to 
pay  up  his  next  instalment.  Tell  him  I'm  goin'  to 
foreclose  an'  drive  him  out.  While  you're  at  it 
you  can  show  him  the  plum  foolishness  of  sickin' 
his  idiot  girl  on  Stephen.  How  it  won't  bring 
'em  any  good  an'  will  jus'  get  me  out  on  his  trail 
red-hot.  He'll  understand."  And  the  stern  old 
mouth  set  into  lines  of  which  Blenham  read  the 
full  and  emphatic  meaning.  "Go  on:  anything 
else  to  report  ?" 

After  his  fashion  in  business  matters  he  had 
pondered  deeply  but  briefly  upon  this  inter- 
ference of  Terry,  had  planned,  had  instructed  his 
agent,  and  now  turned  to  whatever  might  next 
demand  his  attention  in  connection  with  his 
campaign  against  and  for  Steve  Packard.  And 
Blenham,  deeming  that  he  had  scored  a  certain 
point,  moved  straight  on  to  another. 

222 


Terry  Defies  Blenham 

"He  said — an'  she  watched  an'  listened  an* 
giggled — as  how  he  was  in  right  an'  you  was  in 
wrong;  as  how  the  law  was  on  his  side  an'  he'd 
stick  it  out;  how  he  could  take  the  whole  ruction 
into  court  an'  beat  you;  how " 

Old  Hell-Fire  Packard  stared  at  him,  mum- 
bling heavily: 

"He  said  that?  Stephen,  my  gran'soa  said 
that?" 

"Yes,"  lied  Blenham  glibly.  "Them  was  his 
words.  An',  not  knowin'  a  whole  lot  about  law 
an'  such " 

He  ended  there,  knowing  that  his  words  went 
unheeded.  The  look  upon  the  old  man's  face 
changed  slowly  from  one  of  pure  amazement  to 
one  of  pain,  grief,  disappointment.  Stephen, 
his  gran'son,  threatened  to  go  to  law!  It  was 
unthinkable  that  any  one  save  a  thief  and  an  out- 
right scoundrel,  such  by  the  way  as  were  all  of 
his  business  rivals  and  the  men  who  refused  to 
tote  and  carry  at  his  bidding,  should  make  a 
threat  like  that;  worse  than  unthinkable,  utterly, 
depravedly  disgraceful  that  one  of  the  house  of 
Packard  should  resort  to  such  devious  and  damna- 
ble practices.  For  an  instant  Blenham  thought 
that  tears  were  actually  gathering  in  the  weary 
old  eyes. 

But  the  emotion  which  came  first  was  gone  in 
223 


Man  to  Man 

a  scurry  before  a  sudden  windy  rage.  The  face 
which  had  been  graven  with  humiliation  and  cha- 
grin went  fiery  red;  the  big  hands  clenched  and 
were  uplifted;  the  great  booming  voice  trembled 
to  the  shouted  words  : 

"Let  him;  burn  him,  let  him !  I  can  break  the 
fool  quicker  that  way  than  any  other;  don't  he 
know  it  takes  money,  money  without  end,  for 
the  perjurin',  trickery,  slippery  law  sharks  that'll 
bleed  a  man,  aye,  suck  out  his  life-blood  an'  then 
spit  him  out  like  the  pulp  of  an  orange  ?  Infernal 
young  puppy-dawg !  See  what  it's  done  for  him 
already,  this  rich-man 's-son  business.  To  think 
that  one  of  my  blood,  my  own  gran'son,  should 
go  to  law!  Why,  by  high  heaven,  Blenham,  the 
thing's  downright  disgraceful!" 

Swiftly,  deftly,  employing  a  remark  like  a  sur- 
geon's lancet,  Blenham  offered: 

"I  have  the  hunch  that  Temple  girl  put  it  in 
his  head." 

"You're  right !"  This  new  suggestion  required 
no  weighing  and  fine  balancing.  You  could  at- 
tribute no  villainy  whatever  to  one  of  the  old 
man's  enemies  that  he  would  not  admit  the  ex- 
treme likelihood  of  your  being  right.  "Stephen 
ain't  that  sort;  she's  got  him  by  the  nose,  hell 
take  her !  She's  drivin'  him  to  it,  an'  it's  Temple 
drivin'  her.  An5  it's  up  to  you  an'  me  to  drive 

224 


Terry  Defies  Blenham 

him  clean  out'n  this  corner  of  the  universe.  Which 
we  can  do  without  goin*  to  the  law!"  he  inter- 
jected scornfully.  "I  reckon  you  understan', 
don't  you,  Blenham?" 

Blenham  nodded  and  put  on  his  hat. 

"I'm  to  hound  him  from  the  start  to  finish; 
until  we  drive  him  an'  her  out  the  country. 
An'  I'm  to  pound  at  your  gran'son  too  an'  at  the 
same  time  until  we  bust  him  wide  open.  That 
right?" 

"Right  an'  go  to  it!"  cried  Packard. 

Blenham  saluted  as  he  might  have  done  were 
he  still  a  sergeant  down  on  the  border,  wheeled 
and  went  out.  Five  minutes  later  he  was  riding 
again  toward  the  south.  And  now  the  look  on 
his  face  was  one  of  near  triumph.  For  at  last  the 
time  had  come  when  the  old  man  had  given  out- 
right the  instructions  which  could  make  many 
things  possible. 

That  same  day,  about  noon,  Terry  Temple, 
flashing  across  country  in  her  car,  met  Blenham 
on  the  country  road.  She  was  going  toward  Red 
Creek,  her  errand  urgent  as  were  always  the  er- 
rands of  Terry.  Half  a  mile  away  she  knew  him, 
first  by  the  white  stocking  of  his  favorite  mare, 
second  by  his  big  bulk  and  the  way  it  sat  the 
saddle. 

So,  quite  like  the  old  Packard  whom  she  so 
225 


Man  to  Man 

heartily  detested,  she  gave  him  the  horn  and  never 
an  inch  of  the  road  which  was  none  too  wide. 
Blenham,  his  mouth  working,  jerked  his  horse 
out  of  the  way,  down  over  the  edge  of  the  slope, 
and  cursed  after  her  as  she  passed  him. 

Terry,  in  Red  Creek,  went  straight  to  the  store 
and  to  a  shelf  in  a  far  and  dusty  corner  where  were 
all  of  the  purchasable  books  of  the  village.  A 
thumb  in  her  mouth,  a  frown  in  her  eyes,  she  re- 
garded them  long  and  soberly. 

In  the  end  she  severed  the  Gordian  knot  by 
taking  an  even  dozen  volumes.  There  were  a 
grammar,  an  ancient  history,  some  composition 
books,  and,  most  important  of  all,  a  treatise  upon 
social  usages. 

How  to  write  letters,  what  R.  S.  V.  P.  meant, 
"Mr.  and  Mrs.  So-and-so  request  and  so  forth," 
how  a  lady  should  greet  a  gentleman  friend — in 
short,  an  answer  to  all  possible  questions  of  right 
and  wrong  ways  of  appearing  in  polite  society. 
With  her  purchases  stowed  away  in  a  cracker-box 
Terry  turned  again  toward  the  ranch. 

In  the  ordinary  course  of  events  Terry  should 
have  returned  to  her  home  well  ahead  of  Blenham. 
But  this  afternoon  she  made  a  wide,  circling  de- 
tour to  chat  briefly  with  Rod  Norton's  young 
wife  at  the  Rancho  de  las  Flores,  and  so  came 
under  the  Temple  oaks  after  dusk. 

226 


Terry  Defies  Blenham 

As  she  turned  in  at  the  gate  she  saw  Blenham's 
horse  standing  tied  down  by  the  stable.  Terry's 
eyes  opened  wonderingly  and  a  little  flush  came 
into  her  cheeks.  Plainly  Blenham  was  closeted 
with  her  father.  Terry  bit  her  lip,  gathered  her 
books  in  her  arms,  and  hastened  toward  the 
house. 

The  bawling  of  a  mother  cow  and  a  baby  calf, 
separated  by  a  corral  fence,  had  quite  drowned 
out  the  purr  of  her  motor;  her  step  as  usual  was 
light  upon  the  porch.  The  first  that  Temple  and 
Blenham  knew  of  her  coming  was  her  form  in 
the  doorway,  her  face  turned  curiously  upon 
them. 

And  in  that  instant,  while  all  three  stood  mo- 
tionless, Terry  saw  and  wondered  at  a  look  of 
understanding  which  had  flashed  between  her 
own  father  and  the  despised  representative  of  a 
hated  race.  Further  she  noted  how  the  glass 
in  Temple's  hand  was  still  lifted,  as  was  the  glass 
in  Blenham's,  the  whiskey  still  undrunk,  winking 
at  her  in  the  pale  lamplight. 

"Isn't  your  eternal  drinking  bad  enough  with- 
out your  asking  such  as  that  to  drink  with  you  ?" 
she  asked  quietly.  Very,  very  quietly  for  Miss 
Terry  Temple. 

Her  father  shifted  a  trifle  uneasily.  Blenham 
watched  her  intently,  admiringly  after  a  gross 

227 


Man  to  Man 

fashion  and  yet  a  bit  contemptuously.  Blen- 
ham  could  put  a  look  like  that  into  his  eye;  to 
him  a  girl  was  a  thing  that  might  be  both  sneered 
at  and  coveted. 

"My  dear,"  said  Temple,  striving  for  clear  enun- 
ciation and  in  the  end  achieving  it  heavily,  "I 
am  glad  you  came.  I  want  you  to  listen.  We 
must  act  wisely.  We  must  not  misjudge  Mr. 
Blenham." 

While  Terry  remained  silent,  looking  from  one 
to  the  other  of  the  two  men,  Temple  drank  his 
whiskey  hastily,  furtively,  snatching  the  second 
when  her  gaze  had  gone  to  Blenham. 

"What's  the  game  ?"  asked  Terry  in  a  moment. 

She  set  her  books  down  upon  the  table  at 
her  side,  put  out  her  hand  to  the  back  of  a  chair, 
and  like  the  men  remained  standing. 

Temple  looked  to  Blenham,  who  merely 
shrugged  his  thick  shoulders  and  sipped  at  his 
whiskey,  as  though  it  had  been  a  light  wine  and 
very  soft  to  an  appreciative  palate.  In  some 
vague  way  the  act  was  vastly  insolent.  Temple 
appeared  uncertain,  no  uncommon  thing  with  him; 
then,  going  to  set  his  emptied  glass  down  he  put 
an  elbow  on  the  mantel,  dropped  his  head,  and 
spoke  in  a  low,  mumbling  voice  : 

"The  game  ?  It's  what  it  always  was,  Terry 
girl;  what  it  always  will  be.  The  game  of  the 

228 


Terry  Defies  Blenham 

ear  of  corn  and  the  millstones;  the  game  of  the 
unfortunate  under  the  iron  heel." 

"Unfortunate!"  cried  Terry  in  disgust. 
"Pooh!" 

"Listen  to  me,"  commanded  her  father.  "You 
ask:  What's  the  game?  and  I'm  telling  you." 
His  head  was  up  now;  Terry  noted  a  new  look 
in  his  eyes,  as  he  hurried  on.  "It's  just  the  game 
of  life,  after  all.  The  war  of  those  who  have 
everything  against  those  who  have  nothing;  of 
men  like  Old  Hell-Fire  Packard  against  men  like 
me.  A  game  to  be  won  more  often  than  not 
through  the  sheer  force  of  massed  money  that 
squeezes  the  life  out  of  the  under  dog — but  to 
be  lost  when  the  moneyed  fool,  curse  him,  runs 
up  against  a  team  like  Blenham  and  me !" 

"Blenham  and  you  ?"  she  repeated.  "You  and 
Blenham  ?  You  mean  to  tell  me  that  you  are 
chipping  in  with  him  ?" 

Blenham  turned  his  whiskey-glass  slowly  in 
his  great  thick  fingers.  His  eye  shone  with  its 
crafty  light;  his  lips  were  parted  a  little  as  though 
they  held  themselves  in  readiness  for  a  swift  in- 
terruption if  Temple  said  the  wrong  thing  or 
went  too  far. 

"You  are  prejudiced,"  said  Temple.  "You 
always  have  been.  Just  because  Blenham  here 

has  represented  Packard,  and  Packard " 

229 


Man  to  Man 

"Is  an  old  thief!"  she  cried  passionately. 
<€  And  worse !  As  Packard's  Man  Friday  Blen- 
ham  doesn't  exactly  make  a  hit  with  me !" 

"Come,  come,"  exclaimed  Temple.  "Curb 
your  tongue,  Teresa,  my  dear.  If  you  will  only 
listen " 

"Shoot  then  and  get  it  over." 

Terry  sank  into  her  chair,  clasped  her  gauntleted 
hands  about  a  pair  of  plump  knees  which  drew 
Blenham's  gaze  approvingly,  and  set  her  white 
teeth  to  nibbling  impatiently  at  her  under  lip  as 
though  setting  a  command  upon  it  for  silence. 

"Let's  have  it,  Dad." 

"That's  sensible,"  mumbled  Temple.  "You 
always  were  a  smart  girl,  Teresa,  when  you  cared 
to  be.  Let's  see;  where  had  I  got  ?  Oh,  yes; 
speaking  of  Blenham  chipping  in  with  us,  as  you 
put  it." 

"With  you!"  corrected  Terry  briefly. 

"We're  mortgaged  to  old  man  Packard,"  con- 
tinued Temple,  somewhat  hasty  about  it  now  that 
he  had  fairly  plunged  into  the  current  of  what 
he  had  to  say,  as  though  the  water  were  cold  and 
he  was  anxious  to  clamber  out  upon  the  far  side. 
"Not  much  in  a  way;  a  good  deal  when  you  figure 
on  how  tight  money  is  and  how  little  we've  seen 
of  it  these  last  few  years.  Now,  Packard  sends 
Blenham  across  with  a  message;  he's  going  to 

230 


Terry  Defies  Blenham 

foreclose;  he  is  going  to  drive  us  out;  to  ruin  us. 
That  is  Packard's  word." 

Terry  stiffened  in  her  chair;  her  chin  rose  a 
little  in  the  air;  her  eyes  brightened;  the  color 
in  her  cheeks  deepened.  That  was  her  only  an- 
swer to  Packard's  ultimatum  as  quoted  to  her 
father  by  Blenham  and  by  Temple  to  her.  Know- 
ing that  there  was  still  more  to  come,  she  sat  still, 
her  clasped  hands  tightening  about  her  knees. 
Blenham,  as  still  as  she,  was  sipping  at  his  whiskey. 

"But  Blenham  is  a  white  man." 

Temple  attempted  to  say  it  with  the  force  of 
conviction,  but  Terry  merely  sniffed,  and  Temple 
himself  failed  somewhat  to  put  his  heart  into  his 
words.  He  hurried  on,  repeating: 

"  Yes,  a  white  man.  And  he's  got  a  little  money 
of  his  own  that  he's  been  tucking  away  all  these 
years  of  working  for  Packard.  He  comes  over 
this  evening,  Teresa,  my  dear,  and  makes  us  a — 
curse  it,  a  generous  offer.  You  see,  as  things  are, 
we  are  bound  to  lose  the  whole  place,  lock,  stock, 
and  barrel,  to  Packard;  you  don't  want  to  do 
that,  do  you  ?" 

"Go  on,"  said  Terry.  Her  face  was  suddenly 
as  white  as  the  hands  from  which  she  was  swiftly, 
nervously  stripping  her  gauntlets.  "Just  what  is 
Blenham's  generous  offer,  Dad?" 

"It's  one  of  two  things." 
231 


Man  to  Man 

He  hesitated  and  licked  his  lips.  Terry's 
heart  sank  lower  yet;  it  took  him  so  long  to  set 
the  thing  into  words !  "You  see,  as  Old  Man 
Packard's  foreman  and  agent  he  comes  to  tell  us 
that  he  is  ordered  to  foreclose;  to  break  us  utterly. 
As  a  friend  to  us  he  says " 

"For  God's  sake!"  cried  Terry  sharply. 
"What  does  he  say?" 

"He  will  pay  us  a  thousand  dollars  to  let  him 
take  over  everything !  He  will  assume  the  mort- 
gage; he  will  scrap  it  out  with  old  Packard;  he 
will  clear  the  title;  and,  if  we  get  where  we  want 
the  ranch  back  some  time,  he  will  let  us  buy  him 
out  for  just  what  he  has  put  in  it." 

Terry  looked  at  him  gravely. 

"In  words  of  one  syllable,"  she  said  quietly, 
"Blenham  plans  to  give  you  one  thousand  dol- 
lars; then  to  pay  to  old  Packard  the  seven  thou- 
sand you  owe  him;  and  for  this  amount  of  eight 
thousand  to  grab  an  outfit  that  is  worth  twenty 
thousand  if  it's  worth  a  nickel !  That's  his  gener- 
ous offer,  is  it  ?" 

"My  dear " 

"Don't  my  dear  me  !"  she  snapped  impatiently. 
"Just  go  on  and  get  the  whole  idiotic  thing  out  of 
your  system.  What  else  ?" 

"That's  all.  As  I  have  said  already,  as  things 
are  we  are  bound  to  lose  everything  to  Pack- 

232 


Terry  Defies  Blenham 

ard.  Blenham  steps  up  and  offers  us  a  thou- 
sand  " 

"I  should  think  he  would  step  up!  Lively! 
Well,  I  can't  stop  you,  can  I  ?  You  don't  have  to 
have  my  consent  to  make  a  laughing-stock  out  of 
yourself?  Have  you  signed  up  with  Blenham 
already?" 

Temple  sought  to  assume  an  air  of  dignity 
which  went  poorly  with  his  ragged  slippers  and 
bleary  eye. 

"Blenham  has  his  money  in  a  safe  in  Red 
Creek.  There  will  be  papers  to  be  signed.  We 
are  going  there  now.  I — I  am  sorry  you  take  it 
this  way,  Teresa." 

Then  she  sprang  to  her  feet,  her  two  hands 
clenched,  her  eyes  blazing. 

"And  I,"  she  cried  hotly,  "am  sorry.  Oh, 
I  am  ashamed !  that  one  of  the  name  of  Temple 
should  sink  so  low  as  to  hobnob  with  a  cur  and  a 
scoundrel,  a  cheat,  a  liar,  and  all  that  Blenham 
is,  and  that  you  and  I  and  the  whole  country 
know  he  is !  I'd  rather  see  Old  Hell-Fire  Packard 
break  you  and  grind  you  under  foot  than  see  you 
stand  there  and  drink  with  that  thing !" 

And  that  there  should  be  no  mistake  her  finger 
shot  out,  pointing  at  Blenham. 

"Terry!"  commanded  her  father,  "be  silent. 
You  don't  know  what  you  are  saying!" 

233 


Man  to  Man 
"Don't  I,  though!    I— I " 

Blenham  laughed  as  she  broke  off,  laughed  again 
as  he  stood  watching  how  she  was  breathing 
rapidly. 

"Pretty  puss,"  he  said  impudently,  "you  need 
them  pink-an'-white  nails  of  your'n  trimmed." 

"Don't  you  dare  say  a  word  to  me,"  she  flung 
at  him.  "Not  a  word." 

"Not  a  single  little  word,  eh  ?"  He  tossed  off 
his  whiskey,  dropped  the  empty  glass  to  the  floor 
behind  him,  and  came  a  quick  stride  toward  her, 
an  ugly  leer  twisting  at  the  corner  of  his  mouth, 
his  one  eye  burning.  "I've  got  your  ol'  man 
where  I  want  him;  he  knows  it  an'  I  an'  you  know 
it.  An'  when  I  like  I  can  have  you  where  I  want 
you,  too.  Understan '  ? " 

He  had  taken  another  step  toward  her.  The 
sudden  thought  leaped  up  in  her  mind  that  he 
and  her  father  had  had  many  drinks  together 
before  her  arrival.  She  drew  back  slowly.  Tem- 
ple, seeing  that  for  the  moment  all  attention 
had  been  drawn  from  him,  reached  out  for  a  bottle 
on  the  far  end  of  the  mantel. 

Then  suddenly  and  without  another  word  be- 
ing spoken  Terry  was  galvanized  into  action. 
Blenham  was  coming  on  toward  her  and  she  saw 
the  look  in  his  eye.  She  whipped  back;  her 
breath  caught  in  her  throat;  the  color  ran  out  of 

234 


Terry  Defies  Blenham 

her  cheeks.  She  glanced  wildly  toward  her  father; 
his  fingers  were  closing  about  the  neck  of  a  bottle 
when  they  should  have  been  at  the  neck  of  a 
man. 

Terry  whipped  up  a  book  from  the  table — it 
was  a  volume  answering  many  a  question  about 
how  to  act  in  society  but  without  any  mention  of 
such  a  situation  as  now  had  arisen — and  flung 
it  straight  into  Blenham's  hectic  face.  Then 
she  slipped  through  the  door  behind  her,  slammed 
it,  and  ran  out,  down  the  porch  and  into  the  night. 
Behind  her  she  heard  Blenham's  heavy,  spurred 
boots  2nd  Blenham's  curse. 

"If  he  comes  on  I  will  kill  him  !" 

She  was  at  her  car;  her  revolver  was  in  her 
hand.  She  saw  Blenham  come  outside.  A  mo- 
ment he  seemed  to  hesitate,  his  big  bulk  outlined 
against  the  door's  rectangle  of  light.  Then  she 
heard  him  laugh  and  saw  him  return  to  the  room. 
She  came  back  slowly,  tiptoe,  to  stand  under  the 
window. 

"You  can  drive  the  girl's  car,  can't  you?" 
Blenham  was  asking.  And  when  Temple  ad- 
mitted that  he  could:  "Let's  pile  in  an*  be  on 
our  way.  Like  I  said,  you  close  with  me  to- 
night or  I  won't  touch  the  thing." 

Then  again  Terry  ran  back  to  her  car.  She 
sprang  in,  started  her  engine,  opened  the  throttle 

235 


Man  to  Man 

as  she  let  in  the  clutch,  and  making  a  wide  circle 
shot  up  the  road,  out  the  gate,  and  away  into  the 
darkness. 

"I'll  take  this  pot  yet,  Mr,  Cutthroat  Blen- 
ham!"  she  was  crying  within  herself. 


236 


CHAPTER  XVII 

AND    CALLS    ON    STEVE 

THOUGH  a  tempest  brewed  in  her  soul  and 
her  blood  grew  turbulent  with  it,  Terry  did 
not  hesitate  from  the  first  second.  Just  the  other 
day  upon  a  certain  historic  log  had  she  not  said: 
"I  hate  Blenham  worse  than  a  Packard!" 

True,  she  had  gone  on  to  intimate  that  the 
youngest  of  the  house  of  Packard  was  scarcely 
more  to  her  liking  than  was  the  detested  foreman. 
But —  Well,  if  Steve  didn't  know,  at  least  Terry 
did,  that  that  remark  was  uttered  purely  for  its 
rhetorical  effect. 

"He's  been  a  pretty  decent  scout  from  the 
jump,"  Terry  admitted  serenely  to  herself  as  she 
threw  her  car  into  high  and  went  streaking 
through  the  pale  moonlight.  Then  she  smiled, 
the  first  quick  smile  to  come  and  go  since  she 
had  hurled  a  book  in  Blenham's  face.  ''A  pretty 
decent  scout  from  the  jump !" 

He  had  literally  jumped  into  her  life,  going 
after  her  quite  as  though 

"Oh,  shucks  !"  laughed  Terry.  "It's  the  moon- 
light!" 

237 


Man  to  Man 

There  came  a  certain  sharp  turn  in  the  road 
where  even  she  must  slow  down.  Here  Terry 
came  to  a  dead  stop,  not  so  much  in  hesitation 
as  because  she  was  conscious  of  a  departure  from 
the  old  trails  and  felt  deeply  that  the  act  might 
be  filled  with  significance.  For  when  she  had 
made  the  turn  she  would  have  crossed  the  old 
dead  line,  she  would  have  passed  the  boundary 
and  invaded  Packard  property. 

"Well,"  thought  Terry,  "when  you  are  be- 
tween the  devil  and  the  deep  sea  what  are  you 
going  to  do?" 

So  she  let  in  her  clutch,  opened  her  throttle, 
sounded  her  horn  purely  by  way  of  defiance,  and 
when  next  she  stopped  it  was  at  the  very  door  of 
the  old  ranch-house  where  Steve  Packard  should 
be  found  at  this  early  hour  of  the  evening. 

The  men  in  the  bunk-house  had  heard  her 
coming,  and  to  the  last  man  of  them  pushed  to 
the  door  to  see  who  it  might  be.  Their  first 
thought,  of  course,  would  be  that  the  old  moun- 
tain-lion, Steve's  grandfather,  had  come  roar- 
ing down  from  his  place  in  the  north.  Terry 
tossed  up  her  head  so  that  they  might  see  and 
know  and  marvel  and  speculate  and  do  and  say 
anything  which  pleased  them.  Having  crossed 
her  Rubicon,  she  didn't  care  the  snap  of  her 
pretty  fingers  who  knew. 

238 


And  Calls  on  Steve 

"I  want  Steve  Packard,"  she  called  to  them. 
"Where  is  he?" 

It  was  young  Barbee  who  answered,  Barbee 
of  the  innocent  blue  eyes. 

"In  the  ranch-house,  Miss  Terry,"  he  said. 
And  he  came  forward,  patting  his  hair  into  place, 
hitching  at  his  belt,  smiling  at  her  after  his  most 
successful  lady-killing  fashion.  "Sure  I  won't 
do?" 

"You?"  Terry  laughed.  "When  I'm  look- 
ing for  a  man  I'm  not  going  to  stop  for  a  boy, 
Barbee  dear!" 

And  she  jumped  down  and  knocked  loudl/  at 
Steve's  door,  while  the  men  at  the  bunk-house 
laughed  joyously  and  Barbee  cursed  under  his 
breath. 

Steve,  supposing  that  it  was  one  of  his  own 
men  grown  suddenly  formal,  did  not  take  his 
stockinged  feet  down  from  his  table  or  his  pipe 
from  his  lips  as  he  called  shortly— 

"Come  in!" 

And  Terry  asked  no  second  invitation.  In  she 
went,  slamming  the  door  after  her  so  that  those 
who  gawked  at  the  bunk-house  entrance  might 
gawk  in  vain. 

And  now  Steve  Packard  achieved  in  one  flash- 
ing second  the  removal  of  his  feet  from  the  table, 
the  shifting  of  his  pipe  from  his  teeth,  the  swift 

239 


Man  to  Man 

buttoning  of  his  shirt  across  his  chest.  And  as 
he  stared  at  her  he  gasped: 

"I'll  be " 

"Say  it!"  laughed  Terry.  "Well,  I'm  here. 
Came  on  business.  There's  a  hole  in  the  toe  of 
your  sock,"  she  ended  with  a  flash  of  malice,  as 
she  noted  how,  embarrassed  for  the  first  time  since 
she  had  known  him,  he  was  trying  to  hide  a  pair 
of  man-sized  feet  behind  his  table. 

Steve  grew  violently  red.  Terry  laughed  de- 
liciously. 

"I— I  didn't  know- 

"Of  course  you  didn't,"  she  agreed.  "Now, 
I'm  in  something  of  a  rush  of  the  red  streak 
variety,  but  in  a  little  book  of  mine  I  have  read 
that  a  young  gentleman  receiving  a  young  lady 
caller  after  dark  should  have  his  hair  combed, 
his  shirt  buttoned,  and  at  least  a  pair  of  slippers 
on.  I'll  give  you  three  minutes." 

Packard  looked  at  her  wonderingly.  Then, 
without  an  answer,  he  strode  by  her  and  to  the 
window.  The  shade  he  flipped  up  so  that  any- 
one who  cared  to  might  look  into  the  room. 
Next  he  went  to  the  door  and  called : 

"Bill,  oh,  Bill  Royce.  Come  up  here.  Here's 
some  one  who  wants  a  word  with  you  !" 

Terry  Temple's  face  went  a  burning,  burning 
red.  There  came  the  impulse  to  put  both  arms 

240 


"Say  it !"  laughed  Terry.     "Well,  I'm  here.     Came  on 
business" 


And  Calls  on  Steve 

about  this  big  shirt-sleeved,  tousled  Packard 
man  and  squeeze  him  hard — and  at  the  end  of 
it  pinch  him  harder.  For  in  Terry's  soul  was 
understanding,  and  he  both  delighted  her  and 
shamed  her. 

But  when  Steve  came  back  and  slipped  his  feet 
into  his  boots  and  sat  down  across  the  table  from 
her,  Terry's  face  told  him  nothing. 

"You're  a  funny  guy,  Steve  Packard,"  she  ad- 
mitted thoughtfully. 

"That's  nothing,"  grinned  Steve,  by  now  quite 
himself  again.  "So  are  you  !" 

She  had  come  from  the  Temple  ranch  without 
any  hat;  her  hair  had  tumbled  down  long  ago  and 
now  framed  her  vivacious  face  most  adorably. 
Adorably,  that  is,  to  a  man's  mind;  other  women 
are  not  always  agreed  upon  such  matters.  At  any 
rate,  Steve  watched  with  both  admiration  and 
regret  in  his  eyes  as  Terry  shook  out  the  loose 
bronze  tresses  and  began  to  bring  neat  order  out 
of  bewilderingly  becoming  chaos.  Her  mouth 
was  full  of  pins  when  Bill  Royce  came  in.  But 
still  she  could  whisper  tantalizingly — 

"If  you  picked  on  Bill  for  a  chaperon  because 
he's  blind- 

Royce  stopped  in  the  doorway. 

"That  you,  Terry  Temple?"  he  asked.  "An5 
you  wanted  me  ?  What's  up  ?" 

241 


Man  to  Man 

"I  came  to  have  a  talk  with  Steve  Packard," 
answered  Terry  promptly. 

She  got  up  and  took  Royce's  hands  between 
hers  and  led  him  to  a  chair  before  she  relinquished 
them.  And  before  she  went  back  to  her  own 
place  she  had  said  swiftly: 

"I  haven't  seen  you  since  you  licked  Blenham. 
I — I  am  glad  you  got  your  chance,  Bill." 

"Thank  you,  Miss  Terry,"  said  Royce  quietly. 
"I  sorta  evened  up  things  with  him.  Not  quite. 
But  sorta.  Then  you  didn't  want  me  ?" 

"Not  this  trip,  Bill.  It's  just  a  play  of  Mr. 
Packard's  here.  He  didn't  like  to  have  it  known 
that  I  had  him  all  alone  here;  afraid  it  might  com- 
promise him,  you  know." 

She  giggled. 

"Or  queer  him  with  his  girl,  mos'  likely!" 
chuckled  Royce. 

Whereat  Steve  glowered  and  Terrj  looked 
startled. 

"You're  both  talking  nonsense,"  said  Packard. 
He  reached  out  for  his  pipe  but  dropped  it  again 
to  the  table  without  lighting  it.  "If  there  is  any- 
thing I  can  do  for  you,  Miss  Temple " 

He  saw  how  the  look  in  her  eyes  altered.  Noth- 
ing less  than  an  errand  of  transcendent  impor- 
tance could  have  brought  her  here  and  he  knew  it. 
And  now,  in  quick,  eager  words  she  told  him : 

"Blenham  has  almost  put  one  across  on  us, 
242 


And  Calls  on  Steve 

Our  outfit  is  mortgaged  to  your  old  thief  of  a 
grandfather  for  a  miserable  seven  thousand  dol- 
lars. Old  Packard  sent  Blenham  over  to  tell  dad 
he  is  going  to  shove  us  out.  Blenham  plays 
foxy  and  offers  dad  a  thousand  dollars  for  the 
mortgage.  Oh,  I  don't  understand  just  how  to 
say  it,  but  Blenham  has  a  few  thousand  dollars 
he  has  saved  and  stolen  here  and  there,  and  he 
means  to  grab  the  Temple  ranch  for  a  total  of 
eight  thousand  dollars;  seven  thousand  to  old 
Packard,  one  thousand  to  dad 

"But  surely- 

" Surely  nothing!  Dad's  half  full  of  whiskey 
as  usual,  and  a  thousand  dollars  looks  as  big  to 
him  as  a  full  moon.  Besides,  he's  sure  of  losing 
to  old  Hell-Fire  sooner  or  later." 

"And  you  want  me " 

"If  you've  got  any  money  or  can  raise  any,'* 
said  Terry  crisply,  "I'm  offering  you  a  good 
proposition.  The  same  Blenham  is  after.  The 
ranch  is  worth  a  whole  lot  better  than  twenty 
thousand  dollars.  My  proposition  is —  But  can 
you  raise  eight  thousand?" 

Steve  regarded  her  a  moment  speculatively. 
Then,  quite  after  the  way  of  Steve  Packard,  he 
slipped  his  hand  into  his  shirt  and  brought  out  a 
sheaf  of  banknotes  and  tossed  them  to  her  across 
the  table. 

"I'm  not  a  bloodsucker,"  he  said  quietly. 
243 


Man  to  Man 

"Take  what  you  like;  I'll  stake  you  to  the  wad." 

Terry  looked,  counted — and  gasped. 

"Ten  thousand !"  she  cried.  "Good  Lord, 
Steve  Packard !  Ten  thousand — and  you'd  lend 
me " 

"To  pay  off  a  mortgage  to  my  grandfather, 
yes,"  he  answered  soberly,  quite  conscious  of 
what  he  was  doing  and  of  its  recklessness  and, 
perhaps,  idiocy.  "And  to  beat  Blenham." 

She  jumped  up  and  ran  around  the  table  to 
put  her  two  hands  on  his  shoulders  and  shake 
him. 

"You're  a  God-blessed  brick,  Steve  Pack- 
ard !"  she  cried  ringingly.  ''But  I'm  not  a  blood- 
sucker, either.  If  you're  a  dead  game  sport — 
Well,  that's  what  I'd  rather  be  than  anything 
else  you  can  put  a  name  to.  Lace  your  boots, 
get  into  a  hat,  shove  that  in  your  pocket."  And 
she  slipped  the  roll  of  bills  into  his  hand.  "By 
now  dad  and  Blenham  will  be  on  the  road  to 
Red  Creek;  we'll  beat  them  to  it,  have  a  lawyer 
and  some  papers  all  ready,  and  when  they  show 
up  we'll  just  take  dad  out  of  Blenham's  hands." 

"I  don't  quite  get  you,"  said  Steve.  "If  you 
won't  borrow  the  money " 

"I'll  make  dad  sell  out  to  you  for  eight  thou- 
sand; he  pockets  one  thousand  and  with  the  other 
seven  your  money-grabbing,  pestiferous  old  grand- 

244 


And  Calls  on  Steve 

dad  is  paid  off.  Then  you  and  I  frame  a  deal  be- 
tween us " 

"Pardners!"  ejaculated  Bill  Royce.  "Glory 
to  be !  Steve  Packard  an'  Terry  Temple  pard- 
ners " 

"  Don't  you  see  ? "  Terry  was  excitedly  tugging 
at  Steve's  arm.  "Come  on;  come  alive.  We're 
going  to  play  freeze-out  with  Hell-Fire  Packard 
and  his  right-hand  bower,  both.  And  we're  going 
to  keep  dad  from  doing  a  fool  thing.  And  we're 
going  to —  Oh,  come  on,  can't  you  ? " 

Steve  got  up  and  stood  looking  down  at  her 
curiously.  Then  he  laughed  and  turned  away 
for  his  coat  and  hat. 

"Lead  on;  I'm  trailing  you,"  he  said  briefly. 

Bill  Royce  rubbed  his  hands  and  chuckled. 

"Even  if  I  ain't  got  eyes,"  he  mused,  "there's 
some  things  I  can  see  real  clear." 


245 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

"IF   HE    KNOWS — DOES    SHE?" 

THERE  seemed  no  particular  need  for  haste. 
And  yet  Terry  ran  eagerly  to  her  car,  and 
Steve  hurried  after  her  with  long  strides  while 
the  men  down  at  the  bunkhouse  surmised  and 
looked  to  Bill  Royce  for  a  measure  of  explanation. 
Steve  was  not  beyond  the  age  of  enthusiasm; 
Terry  was  all  atingle.  Life  was  shaping  itself  to 
an  adventure. 

And  so,  though  it  appeared  that  all  of  the  time 
in  the  world  was  theirs  for  loitering — for  it  should 
be  a  simple  matter  to  come  to  Red  Creek  well  in 
advance  of  Blenham  and  his  dupe — Terry  yielded 
to  her  excitement,  Steve  yielded  out  of  hand  to  the 
lure  of  Terry,  and,  quite  gay  about  it,  they  sped 
away  through  the  moonlight.  While  Terry, 
driver,  perforce  kept  her  eyes  busied  with  the 
road,  Steve  Packard  leaned  back  in  his  seat  and 
contented  himself  with  the  vision  of  his  fellow 
adventurer. 

"Terry  Temple,"  he  told  her  emphatically  and 
utterly  sincerely,  "you  are  absolutely  the  prettiest 
thing  I  ever  saw." 

246 


"If  He  Knows-Does  She?" 

"I'm  not  a  thing,"  said  Terry.  "And  besides, 
I  know  it  already.  And " 

Then  it  was  that  they  got  their  first  puncture; 
a  worn  tire  cut  through  by  a  sharp  fragment  of 
rock  so  that  they  heard  the  air  gush  out  windily. 
Terry  jammed  on  her  brakes.  Steve  jumped  out 
and  made  hasty  examination. 

"Looks  like  a  man  had  gone  after  it  with 
a  hand-ax,"  he  announced  cheerfully.  "  Good 
thing  you've  got  a  spare." 

Terry  flung  down  from  her  seat  impatiently. 

"I  need  some  new  tires,"  she  said,  as  she  from 
one  side  and  he  from  the  other  began  seeking  in 
the  tool-box  under  the  seat  for  jack  and  wrench. 
"That  spare  is  soft,  too,  and  half  worn  through; 
Fll  bet  we  get  more  than  one  puncture  before  the 
job's  done.  But  it's  mounted,  anyway." 

Steve  went  down  on  his  knee  and  began  jack- 
ing the  car  up;  Terry  standing  over  him  was  busy 
with  her  wrench  loosening  the  lugs  at  the  rim. 
Then,  while  he  made  the  exchange  and  tightened 
the  nuts,  she  strapped  the  punctured  tire  in  its 
carrier  and  slipped  back  into  her  seat.  As  Steve 
got  in  beside  her  he  marked  how  speculatively  her 
eyes  were  busied  with  the  road. 

"We've  got  them  behind  us,  haven't  we?" 
he  asked. 

Terry  nodded  quickly. 
247 


Man  to  Man 

"Yes.  We've  got  the  head  start  and  they're 
on  horseback.  It's  no  trick  to  beat  them  to  it. 
But —  Oh,  I  saw  a  look  on  Blenham's  face  to- 
night!  He's  bad,  Steve  Packard;  all  bad;  the 
kind  that  stops  at  nothing !  And  somehow,  some- 
how he's  got  a  strangle-hold  on  poor  old  dad  and 
is  making  him  do  this.  We've  got  the  head  start; 
we  can  beat  them  to  Red  Creek,  but " 

"But  you  don't  like  the  idea  of  leaving  your 
father  alone  in  Blenham's  company  to-night?" 
he  finished  for  her.  "Is  that  it  ?" 

Again  she  nodded.  He  could  see  her  teeth  set 
to  nibbling  at  her  lips. 

"Then,"  he  suggested,  "why  go  to  Red  Creek 
at  all  ?  Why  not  turn  back  here  and  stop  them  ? 
You  can  take  Mr.  Temple  back  home  with  you. 
I  imagine  that  between  the  two  of  us  we  can  make 
Blenham  understand  he  is  not  wanted  this  time." 

"I  was  thinking  of  that,"  said  Terry. 

And  where  the  Ranch  Number  Ten  road  runs 
into  the  country  road,  Terry  turned  to  the  right, 
headed  again  toward  her  own  home. 

When,  with  Steve  at  her  heels,  she  ran  up  on  the 
porch  it  was  to  be  met  by  Iki,  the  Japanese  cook, 
his  eyes  shining  wildly. 

"Where's  my  father  ?"  she  asked,  and  Iki  wav- 
ing his  hands  excitedly  answered: 

"Departed  with  rapid  haste  and  many  curse- 
248 


"If  He  Knows-Does  She?" 

words  from  his  gentleman  friend.  The  master 
could  not  make  a  stop  for  one  little  more  drink 
of  whiskey.  The  other  strike  and  vomit  threats 
and  say:  'Most  surely  will  I  cause  that  you  tarry 
long  time  in  jail-side.'  Saying  likewise:  'I  got 
you  by  the  long  hair  like  I  want  you  and  yes-by- 
God,  like  some  day  soon  I  get  your  lovely 
daughter!'  Only  he  say  the  latter  with  un- 
pleasant words  of — 

Terry  was  shaking  him  by  both  shoulders. 

"Where  did  they  go?"  she  demanded.  "How 
long  ago?" 

"On  horses,  running  swiftly,"  gibbered  Iki. 
"Ten  minutes,  maybe — perhaps  twenty  or  thirty. 
Who  can  tell  the  time  when " 

"Why  didn't  we  meet  them?"  asked  Steve  of 
Terry.  "If  they  are  really  headed  for  Red 
Creek?" 

"They  are  taking  all  of  the  short-cuts  there  are," 
she  answered  promptly.  "  They'll  take  a  cow- 
trail  through  the  ranch,  cut  across  the  lower  end 
of  your  place,  and  come  into  the  old  road  just 
beyond.  Blenham's  all  fox;  he  has  guessed  that 
I  am  out  to  put  a  spoke  in  his  wheel  somehow. 
He  won't  be  wasting  any  perfectly  good  moon- 
light. Come  on!"  And  again  she  was  running 
to  the  car.  "We'll  overhaul  them  just  the 


same." 


249 


Man  to  Man 

"I  believe  you,"  grunted  Steve,  once  more 
seated  beside  her,  the  engine  drumming,  the  wheels 
spinning.  "You  don't  know  what  a  speed  law 
is,  do  you  ?" 

"Speed  law?"  she  repeated  absently,  her  eyes 
on  the  next  dark  turn  in  the  road,  "What's 
that?" 

He  chuckled  and  settled  back  in  his  seat.  His 
eyes,  like  the  girl's,  were  watchfully  bent  upon  the 
gloom-filled  angle  which  Terry  must  negotiate 
before  the  way  straightened  out  again  before 
her.  Her  headlights  cut  through  the  shadows; 
Terry's  little  body  stiffened  a  bit  and  her  hands 
tensed  on  her  wheel;  her  flying  speed  was  les- 
sened an  almost  negligible  trifle;  she  made  the 
turn  and  opened  the  throttle.  Steve  nodded  ap- 
provingly. 

For  the  greater  part  they  were  silent.  He 
had  never  seen  her  in  a  mood  like  to-night's.  He 
read  in  her  face,  in  her  eyes,  in  the  carriage  of  her 
body,  one  and  the  same  thing;  and  that  was  a 
complex  something  made  of  the  several  emotions 
of  determination,  sorrow,  and  fiery  anger. 

He  read  her  thought  readily;  it  was  clear 
that  she  made  no  attempt  to  conceal  it:  She  was 
going  to  consummate  a  certain  deal,  she  was 
grieved  and  ashamed  for  her  father,  she  remem- 
bered the  "look  on  Blenham's  face  to-night,"  and 

250 


"If  He  Knows— Does  She?" 

again  and  again  her  fury  shot  its  red  tide  into  her 
cheeks. 

"Blenham  put  his  dirty  hands  on  her,"  was 
Steve's  thought;  "or  tried  to." 

And  he  found  that  his  own  pulses  drummed  the 
hotter  as  he  let  his  imagination  conjure  up  a 
picture  for  him,  Blenham's  big,  knotted  hands 
upon  the  daintiness  that  was  Terry.  In  that 
moment  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  been  drawn 
home  across  the  seas  to  help  mete  out  punish- 
ment to  a  man:  a  man  who  had  stricken  old  Bill 
Royce,  and  who  now  dared  look  evilly  upon  Terry 
Temple. 

Then  came  their  second  puncture,  an  ugly  gash 
like  the  first  caused  by  a  flinty  fragment  of  rock 
driven  against  the  worn  outer  casing. 

"I  ordered  new  tires  a  month  ago,"  said  Terry 
by  way  of  explanation,  as  she  and  Steve  in  the 
road  together  set  about  remedying  the  trouble. 

While  he  was  getting  the  inner-tube  out,  squat- 
ting in  front  of  her  car  so  as  to  work  in  the  glow 
from  her  headlights,  she  was  rummaging  through 
her  repair  kit. 

''These  rocky  roads,  you  know,  and  the  way 
I  drive." 

He  laughed.  "The  way  she  drove!"  That 
meant,  "Like  the  devil!"  as  he  would  put  it. 
Over  rocky  roads,  racing  right  up  to  a  turn, 

251 


Man  to  Man 

jamming  on  her  brakes  when  she  must  slow  down 
a  little;  swinging  about  a  sharp  bend  so  that  her 
car  slid  and  her  tires  dragged;  in  short  getting  all 
of  the  speed  out  of  her  motor  that  she  could  possi- 
bly extract  from  it,  regardless  and  coolly  contemp- 
tuous of  skuffed  tires  and  other  trifles. 

Finding  the  cut  in  the  inner-tube  was  simple 
enough;  the  moonlight  alone  would  have  shown 
it.  He  held  it  up  for  her  to  look  at  and  she  shook 
her  head  and  sighed.  But  making  the  patch  so 
that  it  would  hold  was  another  matter;  and  pump- 
ing up  the  tire  when  the  job  was  done  was  still 
another,  and  required  time  and  ate  up  all  of  Terry's 
rather  inconsiderable  amount  of  patience. 

"A  little  more  luck  like  this,"  she  cried  as  once 
more  they  took  to  the  road,  "and  Blenham  will 
put  one  over  on  us  yet !" 

It  was  borne  in  upon  Steve  that  Terry's  fears 
might  prove  to  be  only  too  well  founded.  The 
time  she  had  taken  to  drive  to  him  at  his  ranch, 
the  time  lost  in  returning  to  her  home  and  in 
changing  tires  and  mending  a  puncture,  had  been 
put  to  better  use  by  Blenham.  True,  he  was  on 
horseback  while  they  motored.  And  yet,  for  a 
score  or  so  of  miles,  a  determined,  brutally  merci- 
less man  upon  a  horse  may  render  an  account  of 
himself. 

But  while  they  both  speculated  they  sped  on. 
252 


"If  He  Knows-Does  She?" 

They  came  to  the  spot  where  the  "old  road" 
turned  into  the  new;  Blenham  and  Temple  were 
to  be  seen  nowhere  though  here  the  country  was 
flat  and  but  sparsely  timbered,  and  the  moon 
pricked  out  all  objects  distinctly. 

And  so  on  and  on,  beginning  to  wonder  at  last, 
asking  themselves  if  Blenham  and  Temple  had 
drawn  out  of  the  road  somewhere,  hiding  in  the 
shadows,  to  let  them  go  by  ?  But  finally  only 
when  they  were  climbing  the  last  winding  grade 
with  Red  Creek  but  a  couple  of  miles  away,  they 
saw  the  two  horsemen. 

Teny's  car  swung  about  a  curve  in  the  road 
her  headlights  for  a  brief  instant  aiding  the  moon 
in  garishly  illuminating  a  scene  to  be  remembered. 
Blenham  had  turned  in  his  saddle,  startled  per- 
haps by  the  sound  of  the  oncoming  car  or  by  the 
gleam  of  the  headlights;  his  uplifted  quirt  fell 
heavily  upon  the  sides  of  his  running  horse;  rose 
and  fell  again  upon  the  rump  of  Temple's  mount, 
and  the  two  men,  their  horses  leaping  under 
them,  were  gone  over  the  ridge  and  down  upon 
the  far  side. 

In  a  few  moments,  from  the  crest  of  the  ridge, 
they  made  out  the  two  running  forms  on  the  road 
below.  Blenham  was  still  frantically  beating  his 
horse  and  Temple's.  Terry's  horn  blared;  her 
car  leaped;  and  Blenham,  cursing  loudly,  jerked 

253 


Man  to  Man 

his  horse  back  on  its  haunches  and  well  out  of  the 
road.  With  wheels  locked,  Terry  slid  to  a  stand- 
still. 

"Pile  in,  dad,"  she  said  coolly,  ignoring  Blen- 
ham.  "Steve  Packard  and  I  will  take  you  into 
Red  Creek.  Packard  is  ready  to  make  you  a 
better  proposition  than  Blenham's.  Turn  your 
horse  loose;  he'll  go  home,  and  pile  in  with  us/' 

"He'll  do  nothing  of  the  kind !"  shouted  Blen- 
ham,  his  voice  husky  with  his  fury.  "Just  you 
try  that  on  Temple,  an' —  He'll  do  nothing  of 
the  kind,"  he  concluded  heavily,  his  mien  elo- 
quent of  threat. 

"We  know  you  think  you've  got  some  kind  of 
a  strangle-hold  on  him,  Blenham,"  cut  in  Terry 
crisply.  "But  even  if  you  have,  dad  is  a  white 
man  and — dad!  What  is  the  matter?" 

Temple  slipped  from  his  saddle  and  stood  shak- 
ing visibly,  his  face  dead  white,  his  eyes  staring. 
Even  in  the  moonlight  they  could  all  see  the  big 
drops  of  sweat  on  his  forehead,  glistening  as  they 
trickled  down.  He  put  out  his  hand  to  support 
himself  by  gripping  at  his  saddle,  missed  blindly, 
staggered,  and  began  slowly  collapsing  where  he 
stood  as  though  his  bones  were  little  by  little 
melting  within  him.  Blenham  laughed  harshly. 

"Drunker'n  a  boiled  owl,"  he  grunted.     "But 

jus'  the  same  sober  enough  to  know " 

254 


"If  He  Knows— Does  She?" 

"Dad!"  cried  Terry  a  second  time,  out  in  the 
road  beside  him  now,  her  arms  belting  his  slack- 
ing body.  "It  isn't  just  that.  You ' 

"Sick,"  moaned  Temple  weakly.  "God  knows 
— he's  been  hounding  me  to  death — I  don't  know 
—I  wanted  to  stop,  to  rest  back  there  but — I'm 
afraid  that " 

He  broke  off  panting.  Steve  jumped  out 
and  slipped  his  own  arms  about  the  wilting 
form. 

"Let  me  get  him  into  the  car,"  he  said  gently. 
And  when  he  had  lifted  Temple  and  placed  him  in 
the  seat  he  added  quietly:  "You'd  better  hurry 
on  I  think.  Get  a  doctor  for  him.  I'll  follow 
on  his  horse." 

Terry  flashed  him  a  look  of  gratitude,  took  her 
place  at  the  wheel  and  started  down  grade.  Her 
father  at  her  side  continued  to  settle  in  his  place 
as  long  as  Steve  kept  him  in  sight. 

"Well?"  growled  Blenham,  his  voice  ugly  and 
baffled  and  throaty  with  his  rage.  "You  butt 
in  again,  do  you  ?" 

Steve  swung  up  into  the  saddle  just  now  va- 
cated by  Temple. 

"Yes,"  he  retorted  coolly.  "And  I'm  in  to 
stay,  too,  if  you  want  to  know,  Blenham.  To  the 
finish." 

With  only  the  width  of  a  narrow  road  between 

255 


Man  to  Man 

them  they  stared  at  each  other.  Then  Blen- 
ham  jeered: 

"Oho!  It's  the  skirt,  huh?  Stuck  on  her 
yourself,  are  you  ?" 

Steve  frowned,  but  met  his  piercing  look  with 
level  contempt. 

"Your  language  is  inelegant,  friend  Blenham," 
he  said  slowly.  "Like  yourself  it  is  better  with- 
drawn from  public  notice.  As  to  your  meaning — 
why,  by  thunder,  I  half  believe  you  are  right ! 
And  I  hadn't  thought  of  it !" 

Blenham  caught  in  one  of  his  rare  bursts  of 
heady  rage  shook  his  fist  high  above  his  head  and 
cried  out  savagely: 

"I'll  beat  you  yet,  the  both  of  you!  See  if  J 
don't.  Yes  you  an'  your  crowd  an'  him  an'  her 
an' " 

"Don't  take  on  too  many  all  at  once,"  suggested 
Steve. 

Only  the  tail  of  his  eye  was  on  Blenham;  he 
was  looking  wonderingly  and  a  bit  wistfully  down 
the  moonlit,  empty  road. 

"I  got  him  where  I  want  him  right  now," 
snarled  Blenham.  "An'  her — I'll  have  her,  too, 
where  I  want  her!  An',  inside  less  time  than 
you'd  think  I'll  have- 
But  he  clamped  his  big  mouth  tight  shut, 
glared  at  Steve  a  moment  and  then,  striking  with 

256 


"If  He  Knows-Does  She?" 

spur  and  quirt  together,  so  that  hie  frightened 
horse  leaped  out  frantically,  he  was  gone  down  the 
road  after  Temple  and  Terry. 

As  Steve  followed  a  smile  was  in  his  eyes,  a 
smile  slowly  parting  his  lips. 

"The  scoundrel  was  right!"  he  mused.  "And 
I  hadn't  even  thought  of  it.  Now  how  the  devil 
do  you  suppose  he  knew  ?" 

And  then,  before  he  had  gone  a  dozen  yards 
a  curious,  puzzled,  uncertain  look  come  into  his 
face. 

"If  he  knows,"  was  his  perplexity,  "Does  she  ?" 


257 


CHAPTER  XIX 

TERRY   CONFRONTS   HELL-FIRE    PACKARD 

"TT^ATHER'S  got  it  in  his  head  he  is  going  to 

JT  die!"  cried  Terry.  "He  sha'n't.  I  won't 
let  him!" 

Steve  Packard,  riding  into  Red  Creek,  met 
Terry  coming  out.  She  was  just  starting,  her 
car  gathering  speed;  seeing  him  she  drew  down 
abruptly. 

"I  left  him  at  the  store,"  she  added  breath- 
lessly. "He  is  sick.  They  are  friends  there; 
they'll  take  care  of  him.  He  knows  you  are 
coming;  he  has  promised  to  do  business  with 
you  and  shut  Blenham  out  of  the  running.  You 
are  to  hurry  before  Blenham  gets  there — he's 
across  the  street  at  the  saloon  already.  After 
his  money,  I  guess;  next  thing,  unless  you  block 
his  play,  he'll  be  standing  over  poor  old  dad's 
bed,  bullyragging  him.  Come  alive,  Steve  Pack- 
ard, and  beat  him  to  it." 

And  with  the  last  words  she  had  started  her 
car,  after  Terry's  way  of  starting  anything,  with 
a  leap.  Steve  reined  in  after  her,  urging  his 

258 


Terry  Confronts  Hell-Fire  Packard 

horse  to  a  gallop  for  the  first  time,  calling  out 
sharply: 

"But  you — where  are  you  going?    Why "" 

"After  Doctor  Bridges,"  Terry  called  back, 
"The  fool  is  over  at  your  old  thief  of  a  grand- 
father's, playing  chess  !  The  telephone  won't ' 

He  could  merely  speculate  as  to  just  what  the 
telephone  would  not  do.  Terry  was  gone,  was 
already  at  the  fork  of  the  roads,  turning  north- 
ward, hasting  alone  on  a  forty-mile  drive  over 
lonely  roads  and  into  the  very  lair  of  the  old 
mountain-lion  himself.  Steve  whistled  softly. 

"I  wish  she  had  invited  me  to  go  along,"  he 
grunted. 

But,  instead  she  had  commissioned  him  other- 
wise. So,  though  his  eyes  were  regretful  he  rode 
on  to  the  store.  A  backward  glance  showed  him 
a  diminishing  red  tail-light  disporting  itself  like 
some  new  species  of  firefly  gone  quite  mad;  it 
was  twisting  this  way  and  that  as  the  road  in- 
vited; it  fairly  emulated  the  gyrations  of  a  cork- 
screw what  with  the  added  motion  necessitated 
by  the  deep  ruts  and  chuck-holes  over  and  into 
which  the  spinning  tires  were  thudding. 

Then  the  shoulder  of  a  hill,  a  clump  of  brush, 
and  Terry  and  her  car  were  gone  from  him,  swal- 
lowed up  in  the  night  and  silence.  He  looked  at 
his  watch.  It  was  twenty  minutes  after  eight. 

259 


Man  to  Man 

She  had  forty  miles  ahead  of  her,  a  return  of 
forty  miles. 

"It  will  take  her  two  hours  each  way/*  he  mut- 
tered, "unless  she  means  to  pile  her  car  up  in  a 
ditch  somewhere.  Four  hours  for  the  trip.  That 
means  I  won't  see  her  until  well  after  midnight." 

And  then  he  grinned  a  shade  sheepishly;  Blen- 
ham  was  right.  He  had  thought  of  those  four 
hours  as  though  they  had  been  four  years. 

But  for  her  part  Terry  had  no  intention  of 
being  four  hours  driving  a  round  trip  of  any 
eighty  miles  that  she  knew  of;  she  had  never  done 
such  a  thing  before  and  could  see  no  cause  for 
beginning  to-night.  True,  the  roads  were  none 
too  good  at  best,  downright  bad  often  enough. 

Well,  that  was  just  the  sort  of  thing  she  was 
used  to.  And  to-night  there  was  need  for  haste. 
Great  haste,  thought  the  girl  anxiously,  as  she 
remembered  the  look  on  her  father's  face  when  she 
and  the  storekeeper's  wife  had  gotten  him  into 
bed. 

"I'll  have  the  roads  all  to  myself;  that's  one 
good  thing." 

She  settled  herself  in  her  seat,  preparing  for  a 
tense  hour.  She,  too,  had  marked  the  time; 
it  had  been  on  the  verge  of  twenty  minutes  after 
eight  as  she  left  the  store.  "What  right  has  the 
only  doctor  in  the  country  to  play  chess,  any- 

260 


Terry  Confronts  Hell-Fire  Packard 

way  ?  And  with  old  Hell-Fire  Packard  at  that  ? 
Two  precious  old  rascals  they  are,  I'll  be  bound. 
But  a  rascal  of  a  doctor  is  better  than  no  doctor 
at  all,  and —  Ah,  a  good,  open  bit  of  road !" 

The  car  leaped  to  fresh  speed  under  her.  She 
glanced  at  her  speedometer;  the  needle  was  wa- 
vering between  twenty-seven  and  thirty  miles. 
She  narrowed  her  eyes  upon  the  road;  it  invited; 
she  shoved  the  throttle  on  her  wheel  a  little  further 
open;  thirty  miles,  thirty-three,  thirty-five — 
forty,  forty-five — there  she  kept  it  for  a  moment — 
only  a  moment  it  seemed  to  her  breathless  impa- 
tience. For  next  came  a  series  of  curves  where  her 
road,  rising,  went  over  the  first  ridge  of  hills  and 
where  on  either  hand  danger  lurked. 

Beyond  the  ridge  the  road  straightened  out 
suddenly.  Better  time  now:  twenty-five  miles, 
thirty,  thirty-five — and  then,  down  in  the  valley, 
forty-five  miles,  fifty,  fifty-five — her  horn  blaring, 
sending  far  and  wide  its  defiant,  warning  echoes, 
her  headlights  flashing  across  trees,  fences,  patches 
of  brush,  and  rolling  hills — sixty  miles. 

"If  my  tires  only  stick  it  out — they  ought  to — 
this  road  hasn't  a  sharp  rock  on  it." 

But  from  sixty  miles  she  must  pull  down 
sharply.  Far  ahead  something  was  across  the 
road;  perhaps'only  a  shadow,  perhaps -a  tangible 
barrier;  she  didn't  know  these  roads  any  too  well. 

261 


Man  to  Man 

She  cut  off  her  power,  jammed  on  foot  and 
emergency  brakes,  and  so  came  to  a  stop  just  in 
time.  Here  a  fence  stretched  across  the  road; 
the  tall  gate  throwing  its  black  shadows  on  the 
white  moonlit  soil  was  not  five  feet  from  her 
hood  when  she  stopped. 

She  jumped  down,  threw  the  gate  wide  open, 
propped  it  back  with  a  stone  knowing  full  well 
how  the  farmers  and  cattlemen  hereabouts  builded 
their  gates  to  shut  automatically,  drove  through 
in  such  haste  that  she  grazed  the  gate  itself  and 
so  jarred  it  into  closing  behind  her,  and  was  again 
glancing  from  road  to  speedometer — twenty- 
five,  thirty-five,  a  turn  to  negotiate,  seen  far 
ahead,  dropping  back  to  twenty-five,  to  twenty. 
A  straight,  alluring  stretch — twenty-five,  thirty- 
five,  forty-five,  fifty,  fifty-five,  sixty,  sixty-two, 
sixty-three — the  far  rim  of  the  valley,  another 
line  of  hills  black  under  the  stars — fifty  again 
and  down  to  twenty-five,  to  twenty  and  horn 
blowing  as  she  sped  into  the  mouth  of  the  first 
canon. 

And  again,  when  at  last  she  was  down  in  Old 
Man  Packard's  valley  and  within  hailing  distance 
of  his  misshapen  monster  of  a  house,  she  set  her 
horn  to  blaring  like  the  martial  trumpet  of  an 
invading  army.  Cattle  and  horses  along  her  road 
awoke  from  their  dozing  in  the  moonlight,  per- 

262 


Terry  Confronts  Hell- Fire  Packard 

haps  leaped  to  the  conclusion  that  it  was  old 
Hell-Fire  himself  in  their  midst,  flung  their  tails 
aloft  and  scampered  to  right  and  left,  and  Terry's 
car  stood  in  front  of  Packard's  door. 

Right  square  in  front  of  the  door  so  that  Terry 
herself  could  jump  from  her  running-board  and  so 
that  her  front  wheels  were  planted  firmly  in  the 
old  man's  choice  bed  of  roses.  There  were  two 
flat  tires,  punctured  on  the  way;  two  ruined, 
battered  rims;  her  tank  still  held  perhaps  a  gal- 
lon of  gasoline.  But  she  had  arrived. 

Before  she  leaped  out  Terry  had  glanced  at 
her  clock;  she  had  made  the  trip  of  forty  miles 
in  exactly  fifty-three  minutes.  Considering  the 
state  of  the  roads 

"Not  bad,"  admitted  Terry. 

Then  with  a  final  clarion  call  of  her  horn  she 
had  presented  herself  at  Packard's  door.  She 
had  got  a  few  of  the  wildest  blown  wisps  of  brown 
hair  back  where  they  belonged  before  the  door 
opened.  She  heard  hurrying  feet  and  prepared 
herself  by  a  visible  stiffening  for  the  coming  of 
the  arch  villain  himself.  There  was  a  sense  of 
disappointment  when  she  saw  that  it  was  only 
the  dwarfed  henchman  come  in  the  master's  stead. 
Guy  Little  stared  at  her  in  pure  surprise. 

"Terry  Temple,  ain't  it?"  gasped  the  mecha- 
nician. "For  the  love  of  Pete !" 

263 


Man  to  Man 

"I  want  Doctor  Bridges,"  said  Terry  quickly. 
"He's  here,  isn't  he?" 

Guy  Little  instead  of  making  a  prompt  and 
direct  answer  presented  as  puzzled  a  countenance 
as  the  girl  ever  saw.  He  was  in  slippers  and  shirt- 
sleeves; he  had  a  large  volume  which  in  his  hands 
appeared  little  less  than  huge;  his  hair  was  as 
badly  tousled  as  Terry's  own:  his  eyes  were 
frankly  bewildered.  Terry  spoke  again  impa- 
tiently: 

"Answer  me  and  don't  gawk  at  me !  Is  the 
doctor  here  r" 

"For  the  love  of  Pete !"  was  quite  all  that  Guy 
Little  offered  in  response. 

She  sniffed  and  pushed  by  him,  standing  in  the 
hallway  and  for  the  first  time  in  her  life  fairly  in 
the  lion's  den.  She  looked  about  her  with  lively 
interest. 

"Say,"  said  Little  then.     "Hold  on  a  minute." 

He  came  quietly  close  to  her,  his  slipper-feet 
falling  soundlessly. 

"Doc  Bridges  is  in  there  with  the  ol'  man." 
He  jerked  his  head  toward  the  big  library  and 
living-room  whose  door  stood  closed  in  their 
faces.  "They're  playin'  chess.  Unless  your  sick 
man's  dyin'  I  guess  you  better  wait  until  they  get 
through.  Even  if  he  is  dyin' " 

"I'll  do  nothing  of  the  kind!"  retorted  Terry 
264 


Terry  Confronts  Hell-Fire  Packard 

emphatically.  "When  I've  raced  all  the  way 
from  Red  Creek,  banging  my  car  all  up,  risking 
my  precious  life  every  jump  of  the  way,  doing 
the  trip  in  fifty-three  minutes  do  you  think 
that- 

"Hey?"  cried  Guy  Little.  "How's  that? 
How  many  minutes  ?  Fifty-three,  you  said, 
didn't  you  ?  Fifty-three  minutes  from  Red  Crick 
to  here?  Hey?" 

"Is  the  man  crazy?"  demanded  Terry. 
"Didn't  I  say  I  did?  I  could  have  done  it  in 
less,  too,  only  with  a  flat  tire  and " 

"Hey?"  repeated  Guy  Little,  over  and  over. 
"You  done  that  ?  Hey  ?  You  say 

"I  say,"  cut  in  Terry  starting  toward  the  closed 
door,  "that  there  is  a  man  sick  and  a  doctor 
wanted." 

"Oh,  can  that  part  of  it !"  cried  Little,  coming 
after  her  again  in  his  excitement.  "Chuck  it! 
Forget  it !  The  thing  is  that  you  made  the  run 
from  there  to  here — an'  in  the  night  time — an' 
with  tire  trouble  an' " 

"Doctor  Bridges " 

"Is  in  there.  Like  I  said.  Playin'  chess 
with  the  ol'  man.  You  don't  know  what  that 
means.  I  do.  Mos'  usually,  askin'  a  lady's  par- 
don for  the  way  of  sayin'  it,  it  means  Hell.  Capi- 
tal H.  An'  to-night  the  ol'  man  has  got  the  door 

265 


Man  to  Man 

locked  an'  he's  two  games  behind  an*  he's  sore  as 
a  hoot-owl  an'  he  says  that  anybody  as  breaks  in 
on  his  play  is —  No,  I  can't  say  it;  not  in  the 
presence  of  a  lady.  There's  times  when  the  oF 
man  is  so  awful  vi'lent  he's  purty  near  vile  about 
it.  Get  me?" 

"Guy  Little,  you  just  stand  aside!"  Terry's 
eyes  blazed  into  his  as  she  threw  out  a  hand  to 
thrust  his  back.  "I  came  for  the  doctor  and  I'm 
going  to  get  him." 

Guy  Little  merely  shook  his  head. 

"You  don't  know  the  ol'  man,"  he  said  quietly. 
"An'  I  do.  I'm  the  only  man,  woman  or  child 
livin'  as  does  know  him.  You  stan'  aside." 

He  stepped  quickly  by  her  and  rapped  at  the 
door.  When  only  silence  greeted  him  he  rapped 
again.  Now  suddenly,  explosively,  came  Old 
Man  Packard's  voice,  fairly  quivering  with  rage 
as  the  old  man  shouted: 

"If  that's  you,  Guy  Little,  I'll  beat  your  head 
off'n  your  fool  body !  Get  out  an'  go  away  an' 
go  fast!" 

"It's  important,  your  majesty,"  returned  Guy 
Little's  voice  imperturbably. 

He  rubbed  one  slippered  toe  against  his  calf  and 
winked  at  Terry,  looking  vastly  innocent  and 
boyish. 

"I'm  pullin'  for  you,"  he  whispered.  "There's 
266 


Terry  Confronts  Hell-Fire  Packard 

jus'  one  way  to  do  it."  Aloud  he  repeated. 
"It's  important,  your  majesty.  An'  there's  a 
lady  here." 

"Lady?"  shouted  the  old  man,  his  voice  fairly 
breaking  with  the  emotion  that  went  into  it. 
"Lady?  In  my  house?  What  do  you  mean?" 
Then,  without  waiting  for  an  answer,  "I  don't 
care  who  she  is  or  what  she  is  or  what  the  two  of 
you  want.  Get  out !  This  fool  pill-roller  in  here 
thinks  he  can  beat  me  playin'  chess;  you're  in 
league  with  him  to  distract  me,  you  traitor !" 

Guy  Little  smiled  broadly  and  winked  again. 

"Ain't  he  got  the  manner  of  a  dook  ?"  he  whis- 
pered admiringly.  And  to  his  employer,  "Say, 
Packard,  it's  the  little  Temple  girl.  Terry  Tem- 
ple, you  know.  An' " 

Even  Terry  started  and  drew  back  a  quick  step 
from  the  closed  door.  She  did  not  know  that  a 
man's  voice  could  pierce  to  one's  soul  like  that. 

"An',"  went  on  Guy  Little  hurriedly,  knowing 
that  he  must  rush  his  words  now  if  he  got  them 
out  at  all,  "she's  jus'  drove  all  the  way  from  Red 
Crick — in  a  Boyd-Merrill,  Twin  Eight  car — had 
tire  trouble  on  the  road — an'  done  the  trip  in 
fifty-three  minutes!" 

He  got  it  all  out.  A  deep  silence  shut  down 
after  his  words.  A  silence  during  which  a  man's 
eyes  might  have  opened  and  stared,  during  which 

267 


Man  to  Man 

a  man's  mouth  too  might  have  opened  and  closed 
wordlessly,  during  which  a  man's  brain  might 
estimate  what  this  meant,  to  drive  forty  miles  in 
fifty-three  minutes  over  such  roads  as  lay  between 
the  Packard  ranch  and  Red  Creek. 

"It's  a  lie!"  shouted  Packard.  "She  couldn't 
do  it." 

"I  want  Doctor  Bridges " 

"Sh !"  Guy  Little  cut  her  short.  "I  got  the 
ol'  boy  on  the  run.  Leave  it  to  me."  And  aloud 
once  more:  "She  done  it.  She  can  prove  it. 
An' " 

There  came  a  snort  of  fury  from  the  locked  room 
followed  by  the  noise  of  a  chess-board  and  set 
of  men  hurled  across  the  room  and  by  an  old  man's 
voice  shouting  fiercely: 

"It's  a  cursed  frame-up.  Bridges,  you're  a 
scoundrel  and  I  can  beat  you  any  three  games  out 
of  five  and  I'll  bet  you  ten  thousan'  dollars  on  it, 
any  time !  An'  as  for  that  thief  of  a  Temple's 
squidge-faced  girl —  'Come  in.  Damn  it  all,  come 
in  and  be  done  with  it !" 

And  as  he  unlocked  the  door  with  a  hand  that 
shook  and  flung  it  wide  open  he  and  Terry  Tem- 
ple confronted  each  other  for  the  first  time. 


268 


CHAPTER  XX 

A  GATE  AND  A  RECORD  SMASHED 

THE  man  never  yet  lived  and  knew  old  man 
Packard  who  would  have  suggested  that  he 
was  not  a  good  and  thorough-going  hater.  His 
enemy  and  all  of  his  enemy's  household,  wife  and 
child,  maid-servant  and  man-servant  were  all  as 
the  spawn  of  Satan. 

Now  he  stood  back,  his  face  flushed,  his  two 
hands  on  his  hips,  his  beard  thrust  forward  bel- 
ligerently and  fairly  seeming  to  bristle.  Terry 
Temple,  her  heart  beating  like  mad  all  of  a  sudden 
and  for  no  reason  which  she  would  admit  to  her- 
self, lifted  her  head  and  stepped  across  the  thresh- 
old defiantly.  For  a  very  tense  moment  the 
two  of  them,  old  man  and  young  girl,  stared  at 
each  other. 

Doctor  Bridges  still  sat  at  the  chess-table,  his 
mouth  dropping  open,  his  expression  one  of  pure 
consternation;  Guy  Little  stood  in  the  doorway 
just  behind  Terry,  rubbing  a  slippered  toe  against 
his  leg  and  watching  interestedly. 

"So  you're  Temple's  girl,  are  you?"  snorted 
the  old  man.  "Well,  I  might  have  guessed  it !" 

269 


Man  to  Man 

And  the  manner  of  the  statement,  rather  than 
the  words  themselves,  was  very  uncomplimentary 
to  Miss  Teresa  Arriega  Temple. 

And,  as  a  mere  matter  of  fact — and  old  man 
Packard  knew  it  well  enough  down  in  his  soul — 
he  would  have  guessed  nothing  of  the  sort.  So 
long  had  he  held  her  in  withering  contempt,  just 
because  of  her  relationship  to  her  father,  so  long 
had  he  invested  her  with  all  thinkably  distasteful 
attributes,  so  long  had  he  in  his  out-of-hand  way 
named  her  squidge-nosed,  putty-faced,  pig-eyed, 
and  so  on,  that  in  due  course  he  had  really  formed 
his  own  image  of  her. 

And  now,  suddenly  confronted  by  the  most 
amazingly  pretty  girl  he  had  ever  seen,  he  man- 
aged to  snort  that  she  was  just  what  he  knew  she 
was — and  in  the  snorting  no  one  knew  better 
than  old  man  Packard  that,  as  he  could  have  put 
it  himself,  "He  lied  like  a  horse-thief!" 

Terry  had  seen  him  once  when  she  was  a  very 
little  girl.  He  had  been  pointed  out  to  her  by 
one  of  her  father's  cowboys  who,  for  reasons  of  his 
own,  heartily  hated  and  a  little  feared  the  old 
man.  Since  then  the  girl's  lively  imagination 
had  created  a  most  unseemly  brute  out  of  the 
enemy  of  her  house,  a  beetle-browed,  ugly- 
mouthed,  facially-hideous  being  little  short  of  a 
monstrosity. 

270 


A  Gate  and  a  Record  Smashed 

And  now  Terry's  fine  feminine  perception  be- 
grudgingly  was  forced  to  set  about  constructing 
a  new  picture.  The  old  man,  black-hearted  vil- 
lain that  he  was,  was  the  most  upstanding,  heroic 
figure  of  a  man  that  she  had  ever  seen. 

Beside  him  Doctor  Bridges  was  a  spectacle  of 
physical  degeneracy  while  Guy  Little  became  a 
grotesque  dwarf.  The  grandfather  was  much 
like  the  grandson,  and — though  she  vowed  to  like 
him  the  less  for  it — was  in  his  statuesque,  leonine 
way  quite  the  handsomest  man  she  had  ever 
looked  on. 

Perhaps  it  was  at  just  the  same  instant  that 
each  realized  that  rather  too  great  an  interest 
had  been  permitted  to  go  into  a  long,  searching 
look.  For  Terry  suddenly  affected  a  look  of 
supreme  contempt  while  the  old  man  jerked  his 
eyes  away,  transferring  his  regard  to  the  serene 
Guy  Little. 

"You  said,  Guy  Little " 

"Yes,  sir,  I  said  it !"  Guy  Little  nodded  vigor- 
ously. "Them  forty  miles  in  fifty-three  minutes. 
In  the  dark.  An*  with  tire  trouble.  It's  a  record. 
The  best  you  ever  done  it  in  was  fifty-seven  min- 
utes. She  beat  you  four  minutes.  Her!" 

He  indicated  Terry. 

"  Doctor  Bridges — "  began  Terry. 

"It's  a  lie!"  cried  the  old  man,  smashing  the 


Man  to  Man 

table  top  with  a  clenched  fist.  "I  don't  care  who 
says  it;  she  couldn't  do  it!  No  girl  could;  no 
Temple  could.  It  ain't  so!" 

"Call  me  a  liar?"  cried  Terry,  a  sudden  flam- 
ing, surging,  hot  current  in  her  cheeks,  her  eyes 
blazing.  "You  are  a  horrid  old  man.  I  always 
knew  you  were  a  horrid  old  man  and  you  are  a 
lot  horrider  than  I  thought  you  were.  And — 
you  just  call  me  a  liar  again,  Hell-Fire  Packard, 
and  I'll  slap  your  face  for  you !" 

For  a  moment,  gripped  by  his  ever-ready  rage, 
the  old  man  stood  towering  over  her,  looking  down 
with  blazing  eyes  into  eyes  which  blazed  back,  a 
little  tremor  visibly  shaking  him  as  though  he 
were  tempted  almost  beyond  resistance  to  lay  his 
hands  on  her  and  punish  her  impudence.  A 
bright,  almost  eager,  fearlessness  shone  in  her 
eyes. 

"I  dare  you,"  said  Terry.  "Old  man  that  you 
are,  I'll  slap  you  so  that  you'd  know  who  it  is 
you're  insulting.  Pirate!"  she  flung  at  him. 
"And  land-hog-  Oh ! 

"Doctor  Bridges,  you  are  to  come  with  me 
right  now."  She  had  flung  about  giving  her 
shoulder  to  Packard's  inspection.  "We  must 
hurry  back  to  Red  Creek." 

"Say,  Packard,"  chimed  in  Guy  Little.  "Her 
272 


A  Gate  and  a  Record  Smashed 

car's  all  shot  to  pieces.  An'  her  gas  is  all  gone. 
An'  her  ol'  man  is  awful  sick  in  Red  Creek  an' 
needin'  a  doc  in  a  hurry — or  not  any.  You  un- 
derstan' " 

"What's  it  got  to  do  with  me  ?"  boomed  Hell- 
Fire  Packard.  "What  do  I  care  whether  her  old 
thief  of  a  father  dies  to-night  or  next  week  ? 
What  do  I " 

"Aw,  rats,"  grunted  Guy  Little.  "What's 
eatin'  you,  Packard?  Listen  to  me:  She  says 
how  she  done  it  in  fifty-three  minutes  an'  you 
can't  do  it  any  better'n  fifty-seven;  how  you  ain't 
no  dead-game  sport  noways;  how  she's  short  of 
change  but  would  bet  a  man  fifty  dollars  you 
couldn't  an'  wouldn't." 

"She  said  them  things?"  roared  the  old  man. 

"I—"  began  Terry. 

"She  did!"  answered  Guy  Little  hastily  and 
loudly.  "She  did!" 

"Bridges,"  snapped  old  Packard,  "grab  your 
hat  an'  black  poison  bag  an'  be  ready  in  two 
minutes."  Packard  was  on  his  way  to  the  door. 
"Guy  Little,  you  get  my  car  at  the  front  door — 
quick !  An'  as  for  you — "  He  was  at  the  door 
and  half  turned  to  stare  angrily  into  Terry's 
eyes— "You  can  do  what  you  please.  I'm  goin' 
to  take  the  only  pill-slinger  in  the  country  to 

273 


Man  to  Man 

the  worst  ol'  thief  I  ever  heard  a  man  tell 
about." 

"I'm  going  back  with  you,"  said  Terry  briefly. 

Old  man  Packard  shrugged.     Then  he  laughed. 

"If  you  ain't  scared,"  he  grunted,  "to  ride 
alongside  a  man  as  swears,  so  help  him  God,  in 
spite  of  smash-bang-an'-be-damn',  is  goin'  to  make 
that  little  run  back  to  Red  Creek — in  less'n  fifty 


minutes !" 


"Mind  you,"  said  old  man  Packard  at  the  front 
door,  his  eye  stony  as  it  marked  how  Terry's 
car  stood  among  his  choice  roses,  "I  ain't  doin' 
this  because  I  got  any  use  for  a  Temple,  he  or  she. 
Especially  she.  You  jus'  get  that  in  your  head, 
young  lady.  An'  before  we  start  let  me  tell  you 
one  more  thing:  You  keep  your  two  han's  ofFn  my 
gran'son !" 

"What!  "gasped  Terry. 

"I  said  it,"  he  fairly  snorted.  "Come  on  there, 
Guy  Little,  with  that  car.  Ready  there,  Bridges, 
you  ol'  fool  ?  Pile  in." 

He  took  his  seat  at  the  wheel,  his  old  black  hat 
pushed  far  back  on  his  head,  his  eye  already  on 
the  clock  in  the  dash.  Terry  slipped  ahead  of 
Doctor  Bridges  and  took  her  seat  at  the  old  man's 
side. 

"You  said — just  what  ?"  she  demanded  icily. 
274 


A  Gate  and  a  Record  Smashed 

"I  said/'  he  cried  savagely,  "as  I  know  how 
you  been  chasm'  my  fool  of  a  gran'son  Stephen, 
an'  as  how  you  got  to  stop  it.  I  won't  have  you 
makin'  a  bigger  fool  out'n  him  than  he  already  is." 

Terry  sat  rigid,  speechless,  grown  suddenly 
cold.  For  once  in  her  life  no  ready  answer  sprang 
to  her  lips. 

Then  Hell-Fire  Packard  had  started  his  engine, 
sounded  his  horn,  and  they  were  on  their  way. 
And  Terry,  because  no  words  would  come,  put  her 
head  back  and  laughed  in  a  way  that,  as  she  knew 
perfectly  well,  would  madden  him. 

The  drive  from  Hell-Fire  Packard's  front  door 
to  the  store  in  Red  Creek  was  made  in  some  few 
negligible  seconds  over  forty-eight  minutes.  The 
three  occupants  of  the  car  reached  town  alive. 
Never  in  her  life  after  that  night  would  Terry 
Temple  doubt  that  there  was  a  Providence  which 
at  critical  times  took  into  its  hands  the  destinies 
of  men. 

There  had  been  never  a  word  spoken  until  they 
had  come  to  the  gate  which  had  closed  behind 
Terry  on  the  way  out.  Old  man  Packard  had 
looked  at  speedometer,  clock  and  obstruction. 
Terry  had  seen  his  hands  tighten  on  his  wheel. 

"Set  tight  an'  hang  on,"  he  had  commanded 
sharply. 

275 


Man  to  Man 

The  big  front  tires  and  bumper  struck  the  gate; 
there  was  a  wild  flying  of  splinters  and  at  sixty 
miles  an  hour  they  went  through  and  on  to  Red 
Creek. 

"The  old  devil !"  whispered  Terry  within  her- 
self. "The  old  devil !" 


276 


CHAPTER  XXI 

PACKARD   WRATH   AND   TEMPLE    RAGE 

NO  far-sighted,  inspired  prophet's  services 
were  needed  to  predict  a  rather  stormy  scene 
upon  the  arrival  of  old  Hell-Fire  Packard  and  Miss 
Terry  Temple  at  the  place  of  the  storekeeper  of 
Red  Creek.  It  was  to  be  expected  that  Steve 
Packard  would  be  on  hand;  that  he  would  be  im- 
patiently awaiting  the  drum  of  a  racing  motor; 
that  he  would  be  on  the  sidewalk  to  greet  Temple's 
daughter. 

" Terry !"  he  called.     "So  soon  ?" 

He  couldn't  have  made  a  worse  beginning  had 
he  pondered  the  matter  long  and  diabolically. 
Blenham  had  been  right  and  Steve  had  had  am- 
ple time  to  admit  the  fact  utterly  and  completely; 
now  there  was  a  ringing  note  in  his  voice,  the 
effect  of  which,  falling  upon  his  grandfather's 
ears,  might  be  likened  with  no  great  stretch  of 
imagination  to  that  of  a  spark  in  a  keg  of  gun- 
powder. 

The  old  man's  brakes,  applied  emphatically, 
brought  his  car  to  a  standstill. 

"Look  at  that  clock!"  was  his  first  remark, 
277 


Man  to  Man 

at  once  apprising  Steve  of  his  relative's  presence 
and  hinting,  by  means  of  its  no  uncertain  tone, 
at  an  unpleasant  situation  on  hand  or  about  to 
burst  upon  them.  "Made  it  in  fifty-three  min- 
utes, did  you  ?  Well,  I  done  it  in  less'n  forty- 
nine  !  What  have  you  got  to  say  about  that  ?" 

But  Terry  ignored  him  and  jumped  down,  her 
hand  impulsively  laid  on  Steve's  arm.  Thus  she, 
in  her  turn,  may  be  said  to  have  added  another 
spark  to  young  Packard's  in  the  powder  keg. 

"How's  dad  ?"  she  asked  quickly. 

Steve  patted  the  hand  on  his  arm  and  either 
Terry  did  not  notice  the  act  or  did  not  mind.  Old 
man  Packard  both  noted  and  minded.  His  grunt 
was  to  be  heard  above  Doctor  Bridges's  devout 
"Thank  God,  we're  here!"  as  the  physician 
stepped  stiffly  to  the  sidewalk. 

"Better,"  said  Steve.  "I  think  he's  going  to 
be  all  right  after  all.  I  hope  so.  He " 

"Blenham  ?"  she  asked  insistently.  "He  didn't 
put  one  over  on  you  ?  The  mortgage " 

Steve  tapped  his  breast  pocket. 

"The  papers  have  been  signed;  we  got  a  no- 
tary; everything  is  shipshape.  Go  in;  I'll  tell 
you  all  about  it  later." 

He  turned  toward  the  car  and  the  stiffened 
figure  of  the  man  gripping  the  wheel  with  tense, 
hard  hands. 

278 


Packard  Wrath  and  Temple  Rage 

"Grandy " 

"Grandy,  your  foot!"  boomed  old  Packard 
suddenly,  one  hand  jerked  away  to  be  clenched 
into  a  lifted  fist.  "An'  Terry!  My  God!" 

"What  do  you  mean  ?"  asked  Steve.  "I  don't 
understand." 

"I  mean,"  shouted  Packard  senior,  his  voice 
shaking  with  emotion,  "that  no  mouth  in  the 
world  is  big  enough  to  hold  them  two  words  the 
same  night !  If  you  want  to  chum  with  any  Tem- 
ple livin',  he-Temple  or  she-Temple,  if,  sir,  you 
intend  to  go  'round  slobberin'  over  the  low-down 
enemies  of  your  own  father  an*  father's  father, 
why,  sir,  then  I'm  Mr.  Packard  to  you  and  the 
likes  of  you !" 

Still  was  Steve  mystified. 

"I  thought,"  he  muttered,  "that  since  you  two 
came  together,  since  you  yourself  have  driven  her 
in " 

"If  I,  sir,"  thundered  his  grandfather,  "have 
chosen  to  bring  that  petticoated  wildcat  there  an' 
that  oP  pill-slinger  from  my  place  to  Red  Creek 
in  a  shake  less'n  forty-nine  minutes — jus*  to  show 
her  that  anything  on  God's  earth  done  by  a  Tem- 
ple can  be  better  done  by  a  Packard — you  got 
to  go  to  thinkin'  things,  have  you?  Why,  sir, 
so  help  me,  sir,  I've  a  notion  to  jump  down  right 
now  an'  give  you  the  horsewhippin'  of  your  life ! " 

279 


Man  to  Man 

Steve,  in  spite  of  himself,  chuckled.  Terry, 
reassured  about  her  father,  giggled.  Both  sounds 
were  audible;  the  two,  mingled,  were  entirely  too 
much  to  be  borne. 

"You — you  disgrace  to  an  honorable  name," 
the  old  man  called  bitterly  and  wrathfully. 
"You " 

He  broke  off,  hesitated,  glared  from  Steve 
at  the  car's  side  to  Terry  already  on  the  steps  of 
the  store,  and  concluded  something  more  quietly 
though  not  a  whit  less  furiousfy  for  all  that: 
"You  speak  of  papers  signed.  You  don't  mean 
you're  actually  havin'  any  kind  of  business 
dealin's,  frien'ly  dealin's,  with  the  Temples  ?" 

"Blenham  brought  word  you  were  foreclosing 
on  Temple;  he  had  some  sort  of  a  crooked  scheme 
to  cheat  Temple  out  of  his  land.  I  have  just 
framed  a  deal  whereby  I  put  up  the  money  to 
pay  you  your  mortgage  and " 

"You?     You,  Stephen  Packard?" 

"Yes,"  said  Steve,  wondering  whether  the  old 
man  were  the  more  moved  because  of  the  shock  of 
finding  his  nephew  able  to  pay  off"  so  large  a  sum 
or  because  of  the  "frien'ly  dealin's  with  the 
Temples." 

There  was  a  brief  silence.  Doctor  Bridges 
mounted  the  steps;  he  and  Terry  were  going  in. 
Then  again  Hell-Fire  Packard's  voice  burst  out 

280 


Packard  Wrath  and  Temple  Rage 

violently  and  Terry  stopped  short,  her  hands 
going  suddenly  to  her  breast.  Her  face,  could 
they  have  noted  in  the  pale  light,  was  flaming 
scarlet. 

"That  hussy,  that  jade,  that  Jezebel!"  came 
the  ringing  denunciation.  "The  tricky,  shame- 
less, penurious,  graspin'  unprincipled  little  she- 
devil  !  She's  after  you,  my  boy,  after  you  hard. 
An',  you  poor  miserable  blind  worm  of  a  fool,  you 
ain't  got  the  sense  to  see  it !  Everybody  knows 
it;  the  whole  country's  talkin'  about  it;  how 
Temple's  baitin'  his  trap  with  her  an'  she's  baitin' 
her  trap  with  herself  an' " 

"Grandfather!"  cried  Steve,  his  own  face  flush- 
ing under  the  scathing  torrent.  "You  don't 
know  what  you  are  saying!" 

"I  know  what  he's  saying." 

Terry,  her  hands  still  tight  pressed  to  her 
breast,  came  slowly  down  the  steps.  Though 
but  a  moment  had  passed  her  face  was  now  dead 
white  in  the  moonlight. 

"You  are  saying,"  and  her  eyes  shone  straight 
up  into  the  old  man's,  "that  I  am  setting  a  trap 
for  your  grandson  ?  That  I,  Teresa  Arriega  Tem- 
ple, would  for  an  instant  consider  a  Packard,  the 
son  and  the  grandson  of  a  Packard,  as  worthy  of 
shining  my  boots  for  me  ?  Why,  I  spit  upon  the 
two  of  you  ! " 

281 


Man  to  Man 

She  whirled  and  was  gone  into  the  house. 
Steve  instead  of  watching  her  going  kept  his  eyes 
hard  upon  his  grandfather's  face.  Now  that  the 
door  closed  he  said  quietly: 

"Grandfather,  we  have  seen  rather  little  of 
each  other.  I  think  we  had  better  see  even  less 
from  now  on.  You  have  insulted  that  girl  in 
a  way  that  makes  me  want  to  climb  into  your 
car  and  drag  you  down — and  beat  you  half  to 
death!" 

His  restraint  was  melting  under  the  fire  of  his 
passion;  his  voice  grew  less  quiet  and  began  to 
tremble. 

"I  am  going  to  make  that  girl  the  next  Mrs. 
Packard  or  know  the  reason  why!" 

"Defy  me,  do  you?  Defy  me  an'  go  an'  run 
with  a  pack  of  thieves  an' " 

"That's  enough!"  shouted  Steve.  "I  am 
going  right  straight  and  ask  her " 

"Ask  her  an'  hell  swallow  you!"  came  the 
vociferous  permission  from  the  infuriated  old 
man.  "But  remember  one  thing:  Blenham  has 
slipped  up  to-night,  maybe,  an'  let  you  an'  her 
an'  her  lyin',  thievin',  scoundrelly  father  steal 
a  march  on  me.  But  it's  the  last  one;  mark 
that !  Blenham  gets  his  orders  straight  from  me 
to-night;  he  goes  after  you  to  break  you,  smash 
you,  literally  pull  you  to  pieces  root  an'  branch — 

282 


Packard  Wrath  and  Temple  Rage 

an'  with  me  an*  Blenham  workin'  on  the  job  night 
an'  day,  stoppin'  at  nothin'.  Hear  me  ?  I  mean 
it !"  His  two  fists  were  now  lifted  high  above  his 
head.  "Stoppin'  at  nothin'  I'll  step  on  you  an' 
your  Temple  frien's  like  you  was  a  nest  of  cater- 
pillars. You  hear  me,  Stephen !" 

But  Stephen,  his  lips  tight  pressed  as  he  fought 
with  himself  to  keep  his  hands  off  his  own  father's 
father,  turned  and  went  the  way  Terry  had  gone. 

"You  hear  me,  Stephen.  There's  nothin'  I'll 
stop  at  to  smash  you!" 

So  his  grandfather's  voice  followed  him  mightily. 
But  young  Packard  had  already  set  his  thought 
upon  another  matter.  Before  him  in  the  tiny 
living-room  of  the  ramshackle  store  building  a 
kerosene  lamp  was  burning  palely  and  lying  upon 
an  old  sofa,  face  down,  shaken  with  sobs  was 
Terry. 

"Terry!"  he  called  softly.  "Your  father 
isn't " 

He  thought  that  she  had  not  heard.  He  came 
closer  and  laid  his  hand  gently — there  was  a 
deep  tenderness  even  in  the  action — upon  her 
shoulder.  But  Terry  had  heard  and  now  flung 
his  hand  violently  aside  and  sprang  to  her  feet, 
her  eyes  blazing  angrily  into  his. 

"My  father  is  asleep.  Doctor  Bridges  rather 
thinks  there  is  nothing  very  much  the  matter 

283 


Man  to  Man 

with  him,"  she  remarked  crisply.  "I  am  sorry  I 
troubled  you  in  any  way,  Mr.  Packard.  You  say 
you  arranged  matters  with  dad  ?  Well,  I  want  you 
to  tear  up  the  papers;  I'll  see  that  your  money  is 
returned  to  you." 

"Terry!"  he  muttered. 

Then  she  flared  out  hotly,  her  two  small  hands 
clenched  at  her  sides,  her  chin  lifted,  her  voice  a 
new  voice  in  his  ears,  bitter  and  hostile. 

"Don't  you  Terry  me,  Steve  Packard!  Now 
or  ever  again.  I  am  sorry  that  I  ever  saw  you; 
I  am  ashamed  that  I  ever  spoke  to  you.  I  had 
rather  be  dead  or — yes,  I'd  rather  be  in  Blenham's 
arms  than  have  you  look  at  me !" 

"Good  Lord !"  ejaculated  Steve,  utterly  at  sea. 
"I  don't  understand." 

"You  don't  have  to,"  snapped  Terry.  "All 
you've  got  to  know  is  that  I  won't  have  anything 
further  in  any  way  whatever  to  do  with  you.  I 
won't  have  you  helping  us  with  our  mortgage;  I 
won't  have  you  advancing  money  to  us;  I  won't 
stand  one  little  minute  for  any  of  your — your 
wretched  interference  with  our  affairs !  If  you 
think  you  can — can  butt  in  on  our  side  of  any 
fight  in  the  world " 

She  ended  abruptly,  beginning  to  flounder, 
panting  so  that  the  swift  rise  and  fall  of  her 

284 


Packard  Wrath  and  Temple  Rage 

breast  was  an  outward  token  of  inward  emotion. 
Steve  Packard  stared  and  flushed  hotly  and  began 
to  feel  his  own  anger  mount  quickly. 

"Butt  in  on  your  affairs!"  he  snorted  after  a 
fashion  more  than  vaguely  reminiscent  of  his 
grandfather.  "I  like  that!  As  if  I'd  have  come 
a  step  without  your  invitation." 

And  so  he  blurted  out  the  one  thing  he  should 
have  left  unsaid,  the  thing  which  already  rankled 
in  Terry's  proud  heart.  She  had  asked  him  to 
come;  she  had  in  a  way  suggested  a — a  sort  of 
partnership. 

"Oh  !  how  I  hate  you  !"  cried  Terry.  "You— 
you  Packard !" 

"If  there's  some  crime,  some  string  of  crimes 
that  I  have  committed " 

"Will  you  tear  up  those  papers?  Til  get  you 
back  your  money.  Will  you  tear  up  those 
papers  ?" 

"Will  you  explain  what's  gone  wrong  ?" 

"I  will  not." 

He  shrugged  exasperatingly. 

"I'll  keep  the  papers,"  he  returned  stonily. 
"I  put  over  rather  a  good  deal  to-night,  come  to 
think  of  it." 

He  put  on  his  hat,  jamming  it  down  tight,  and 
half  turned  to  go. 

285 


Man  to  Man 

"When  you  want  to  talk  ranch  matters  over 
with  me— come  to  my  ranch-house,  little  pard- 
ner!" 

"Oh!"  cried  Terry.     "Oh!" 


286 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE    HAND   OF   BLENHAM 

CTTVACH  man's  life  is  what  he  shapes  it  for 

LLJ  himself/' 

"A  stupid,  bare-faced,  platitudinous  lie!" 

Steve  Packard,  grown  irritable  here  of  late,  flung 
the  offending  book  through  an  open  window  and 
got  to  his  feet. 

"A  man's  life  is  what  the  evil  little  gods  of 
chance  make  it,  curse  them.  Or  what  a  fool  of 
a  girl  tangles  and  twists  it  into." 

He  shook  himself  viciously  and  went  to  his 
door,  staring  out  across  the  hills  vaguely  moulded 
under  the  stars. 

Life  was  just  a  very  unsatisfactory  sort  of  a 
proposition.  It  was  a  game  that  wasn't  worth 
the  players'  serious  attention,  a  game  all  of  chance 
and  not  in  the  least  of  skill,  and  not  even  interest- 
ing !  So,  in  the  sombre  depths  of  his  soul  Steve 
Packard  admitted  freely.  And,  until  a  certain 
night  only  some  six  months  ago,  he  had  never 
divined  this  great  truth. 

That  night  Blenham  had  sneered,  "Stuck  on 
her  yourself,  are  you  ?"  and  Steve  had  recognized 

287 


Man  to  Man 

a  vital  fact  inelegantly  expressed;  that  night  Terry 
Temple  had  appeared  to  him  more  than  just  a 
"good  little  sport";  that  night  he  had  somewhat 
brusquely  considered  the  sweet  femininity  of  her 
under  her  assumed  surface  of  diablerie  and  had 
found  her  infinitely  desirable;  that  same  night 
Terry,  for  no  reason  in  the  world  that  Steve  Pack- 
ard could  discover,  had  suddenly  congealed  into 
a  thing  of  ice  that  had  never  since  thawed  save 
only  briefly  before  burning  fits  of  wrath. 

Two  hours  after  he  had  admitted  to  himself 
that  he  loved  her  she  informed  him  with  all  of  the 
emphasis  she  could  summon  for  the  occasion  that 
she  hated  him.  And  life  hadn't  been  what  he 
had  made  it  at  all. 

The  papers  which  Temple  had  signed  were  still 
in  existence,  safely  deposited  in  a  bank  in  San 
Juan.  Steve  had  paid  off  the  Temple  mortgage 
to  his  grandfather;  he  had  paid  Temple  a  thou- 
sand dollars  in  cash;  thereby  he  had  acquired  a 
half  interest  in  the  Temple  ranch.  That  had 
all  been  quite  in  accordance  with  Terry's  sugges- 
tions and  entirely  satisfactory. 

Not  being  a  thief,  Steve  counted  upon  relin- 
quishing his  right  to  his  half  at  any  time  that 
Temple  paid  back  just  what  had  been  advanced. 
But  it  became  evident  very  soon  that  Temple 
would  never  pay  back  anything.  Though  Doctor 

288 


The  Hand  of  Blenham 

Bridges  found  nothing  very  much  the  matter 
with  him,  nevertheless  Temple  died  less  than  two 
weeks  later. 

During  those  two  weeks  Steve  had  not  seen 
Terry.  With  word  of  the  girl's  bereavement, 
however,  he  had  gone  immediately  to  her.  She 
looked  at  him  curiously,  saying  quietly  that  the 
boys  were  doing  all  that  was  necessary  and  had 
asked  him  to  go. 

Then,  after  another  two  weeks,  he  had  ridden 
again  to  the  Temple  ranch.  He  found  it  deserted, 
doors  and  windows  shut,  dead  leaves  thick  in  the 
path.  His  heart  sank  and  thereafter  knocked 
hard  at  his  ribs;  Terry  was  gone  and  had  said 
nothing  to  him.  He  turned  and  went  home,  bitter 
and  angry  and  hurt. 

Where  had  she  gone  ?  He  didn't  know;  he 
told  himself  he  didn't  care;  certainly  he  would 
bite  his  tongue  out  before  he  would  ask  any  of 
her  friends.  But  he  knew  within  himself  that  he 
did  care  as  he  had  cared  about  nothing  else  in  the 
world;  and  he  asked  himself  a  thousand  times: 
"Where  has  Terry  gone?" 

For  the  world  was  not  right  without  her;  the 
sunlight  was  thin;  the  season  of  bursting  buds 
was  but  a  pale,  lack-lustre  imitation  of  spring. 
And  as  the  long,  hot  days  dragged  by  and  the  ver- 
dure died  on  hill  and  plain  and  dusty  mountain- 

289 


Man  to  Man 

side,  he  asked  himself  "When  will  she  come  back 
to  us?" 

Long  after  every  one  else  had  heard  and  for- 
gotten the  story,  or  at  least  had  given  over  all 
thinking  upon  it,  Steve  heard  how  Terry  had 
drawn  against  the  last  of  the  inconsiderable  legacy 
left  her  long  ago  by  her  Spanish  mother,  and  had 
gone  to  San  Juan. 

She  had  friends  there;  the  banker's  wife,  Mrs. 
Engle  and  her  fluffy-haired  daughter,  Florrie, 
had  opened  their  arms  to  her  and  made  her  tarry 
with  them  until  the  family  made  their  annual 
trip  East.  Then  Terry  had  gone  with  them. 

And  never  a  word  to  Steve  Packard.  He 
cursed  himself,  tried  to  curse  her,  and  found 
that  he  couldn't  quite  make  a  go  of  it,  and  settled 
down  to  good,  hard  work  and  the  job  of  forgetting 
what  a  pair  of  gray  eyes  looked  like  and  how  two 
certain  red  lips  smiled  and  the  tinkly  notes  of  a 
laughing  voice. 

In  the  good,  hard  work  of  stock  ranching  he 
succeeded  more  than  well;  in  the  other  task  he 
set  himself  he  failed  utterly.  Never,  when  alone 
out  on  the  range  a  shadow  fell  across,  did  he  fail 
to  look  up  quickly  with  his  lips  half  forming  to 
the  word,  "Terry !"  And,  after  all  this  time,  still 
no  word  from  her,  no  word  of  her. 

Eight  thousand  dollars  he  had  paid  to  Temple. 
290 


The  Hand  of  Blenham 

The  remaining  two  thousand  of  his  father's  heri- 
tage he  had  turned  over  promptly  to  his  grand- 
father to  apply  on  his  own  indebtedness.  He  had 
consulted  with  Bill  Royce  and  Barbee  and  had 
cut  down  his  crew  of  men,  thereby  curtailing 
expenses. 

He  had  sold  a  few  head  of  beef  cattle  and  banked 
the  money  for  the  men's  wages  and  current  ex- 
penses. By  the  same  means  he  had  managed  to 
keep  abreast  of  his  interest  payments  to  old  man 
Packard  and  had  even  paid  off  a  little  more  of  the 
principal.  Then,  catching  the  market  right  "go- 
ing and  coming,"  he  had  bought  a  lot  of  young 
cattle  from  an  overstocked  ranch  adjoining,  and 
had  made  a  second  profitable  sale  a  month 
later. 

Finally,  to  indicate  that  he  was  still  in  the  game 
and  playing  it  to  win,  consequently  overlooking 
never  a  bet,  he  had  cashed  in  pretty  fortunately 
on  a  section  of  his  timber-land. 

The  Rollston  mills  were  just  opening  upon  the 
other  side  of  the  mountains;  he  showed  the  firm's 
buyer  a  stretch  of  his  big  timber  and  closed  the 
deal  to  their  common  satisfaction.  And  with 
every  deal  of  this  sort  old  man  Packard  felt  his 
grip  being  pried  loose  from  Ranch  Number  Ten. 

From  the  beginning  Steve  had  been  puzzled 
to  know  what  to  do  with  the  Temple  outfit.  Terry 

291 


Man  to  Man 

had  paid  off  the  men  and  had  let  them  go;  the 
stock  .on  the  place  she  had  left,  and  without  a 
word,  to  Steve's  care.  Since  the  place  was  well 
stocked,  chiefly  with  young  cattle,  there  was 
enough  here  to  demand  the  attention  which  so 
busy  a  man  as  Steve  Packard  could  not  give. 

He  talked  matters  over  with  Bill  Royce  and  in 
the  end  sent  both  Bill  and  Barbee  to  the  Temple 
place,  riding  over  once  or  twice  a  week  himself 
to  see  how  matters  went. 

And  so  the  months  dragged  by.  Twice,  swear- 
ing to  himself  that  he  was  doing  so  only  because 
the  management  of  the  business  made  it  absolutely 
necessary,  Steve  wrote  to  Terry.  He  got  no 
answer.  He  did  not  even  know  if  she  had  re- 
ceived his  notes.  The  first  he  had  signed,  by  the 
way,  "Yours  very  truly,  Steve."  The  second 
ended  "Respectfully,  S.  Packard." 

"Terry's  havin'  the  time  of  her  life,"  Bill 
Royce  startled  him  by  announcing  one  day  out  of 
a  clear  sky. 

"How  do  you  know?"  asked  Steve  sharply. 

"Oh,  she  writes  letters  to  her  frien's,"  said 
Royce.  "One  of  the  boys  brought  word  from  the 
Norton  place.  Terry  wrote  her  an*  wrote  some 
folks  in  Red  Creek  an'  wrote  the  Lanes  an' ' 

"Appears  to  be  quite  a  letter-writer,"  remarked 
292 


The  Hand  of  Blenham 

Steve  stiffly.  "And  she's  having  the  time  of  her 
life,  is  she  ?" 

"Sure,"  said  Royce  innocently.  "Why  not? 
The  boys  are  bettin'  she's  dead  gone  on  some 
young  down-East  jasper  an*  that  maybe  she'll  be 
married  in  no  time.  What  do  you  think,  huh, 
Steve?" 

"Where  is  she  ?"  demanded  Steve,  very  brusque 
about  it. 

"Blessed  if  I  know,"  admitted  Royce.  "Chi- 
cago, I  think.  Or  New  York.  Or  Pennsylvany. 
One  of  them  towns.  Shucks.  She'd  ought  to 
come  on  home  where  she  belongs." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Steve. 

But  in  Royce's  ears  the  voice  didn't  ring  quite 
true.  It  was  meant  to  be  careless  in  the  extreme 
and — no,  it  didn't  ring  quite  true. 

Hot,  cloudless  skies  as  the  season  dragged  on, 
dry,  burning  fields  under  a  blazing  sun,  the  cattle 
seeking  shade  wherever  it  was  to  be  had,  crowding 
at  the  water-holes,  browsing  early  and  late  and 
frequenting  the  cooler  canons  during  the  heat 
of  the  days.  And  nights  of  stars  and  a  vast 
silence  and  emptiness. 

A  girl  had  come,  had  for  a  little  posed  laughing 
outlined  against  the  window  of  a  man's  soul,  had 
flashed  her  unforgettable  gray  eyes  at  him  and 
had  gone.  And  so,  and  just  because  of  her,  the 

293 


Man  to  Man 

blistering  hills  seemed  but  ugly,  lonely  miles,  the 
nights  under  a  full  moon  were  just  the  more  silent 
and  empty. 

But  Steve  Packard  held  on,  grown  grim 
and  determined.  He  had  entered  the  game, 
lightly  enough  he  had  demanded  his  stack  of 
chips,  now  he  would  stay  for  the  show-down. 
Either  he  would  clear  his  ranch  of  its  mortgage 
and  thus  make  clear  to  his  meddlesome  old  grand- 
parent that  he  was  a  man  grown  and  no  mere 
boy  to  be  disciplined  and  badgered  willy-nilly,  or 
else  his  meddlesome  old  grandparent  would  in 
truth  "smash"  him. 

In  either  case  there  would  be  the  end  soon. 
For,  win  or  lose,  Steve,  tired  of  the  game,  would 
draw  out  and  set  his  back  to  Ranch  Number 
Ten  and  the  country  about  it  and  go  back  to  the 
old  rudderless  life  of  vagabondage.  Just  because 
a  girl  had  come,  had  tarried,  and  then  had  gone. 

So,  though  the  game  had  long  ago  lost  its  zest, 
Steve  Packard  like  any  other  thoroughbred  played 
on  for  a  finish.  Now  and  then,  but  seldom,  he 
saw  Blenham.  Often,  in  little,  annoying,  mean 
ways  Blenham  made  himself  felt.  Early  in  the 
season  Steve's  riders  had  found  three  of  his  steers 
dead  on  the  outskirts  of  the  range;  a  rifle  bullet 
had  done  for  each  one  of  them. 

Since  old  man  Packard  had  promised  to  stop 
294 


The  Hand  of  Blenham 

at~nothing,  since  Blenham  was  full  of  venom, 
Steve  never  for  a  moment  doubted  whose  hand 
had  fired  the  three  shots.  But  he  merely  called 
his  cowboys  together,  told  them  what  had  hap- 
pened, ordered  them  to  keep  their  eyes  open  and 
their  guns  oiled,  and  hoped  and  longed  for  the 
time  when  he  himself  could  come  upon  Blen- 
ham busied  with  some  act  like  this. 

There  were  other  episodes  which  he  attributed 
to  Blenham  though  he  must  admit  in  each  case 
that  anything  in  the  vaguest  way  approaching  a 
proof  was  lacking.  Just  before  he  closed  the 
deal  with  the  lumber  company  that  had  taken 
over  his  timber  tract  a  forest  fire  had  broken  out. 
Luck  and  a  fortuitous  shifting  of  the  wind  had 
saved  him  from  a  heavy  loss. 

Incidents,  these  and  others  of  their  kind,  to 
fill  Steve  Packard  with  rage;  but  Blenham's 
supreme  blows — Blenham's  and  old  man  Packard's 
—were  reserved  for  late  in  the  dry  season  when 
they  fell  hardest. 

A  growing  shortage  of  feed  and  the  necessity 
for  cash  for  the  forthcoming  substantial  sum  to 
be  paid  on  the  mortgage  held  by  his  grandfather, 
combined  with  the  fact  that  his  lean  acres  were 
overstocked,  drove  Steve  in  search  of  a  market 
late  in  the  summer.  Bill  Royce  shook  his  head 
and  raised  his  objections. 

295 


Man  to  Man 

"Everybody  else  is  doin'  the  same  thing  an* 
at  the  same  time,"  he  said  lugubriously. 
"Which'll  mean  the  market  all  glutted  up  so's 
you  won't  get  no  kind  of  figger.  If  you  could 
only  hold  on  till  next  spring." 

But  Steve  merely  said — 

"Oh,  well,  Bill,  it's  all  in  a  lifetime,"  and 
shaped  his  plans  for  a  sale. 

And  within  ten  days  there  came  an  offer  which 
startled  him.  It  was  from  the  big  buyers,  Doan, 
Rockwell,  and  Haight,  who,  their  communication 
said,  knew  his  line  of  stock  thoroughly  and  were 
prepared  to  pay  the  top  prices  for  all  he  had.  He 
estimated  swiftly  and  sent  a  man  hurrying  into 
town  with  a  message  to  go  by  wire;  he  would 
round  up  between  a  hundred  and  fifty  and  two 
hundred  head  and  would  have  them  in  San  Juan 
when  desired. 

"Old  Doan's  a  sport  and  a  wise  boy,  both," 
announced  Steve  triumphantly  when  he  made 
the  news  known  to  Bill  Royce.  "He  knows  high- 
grade  stuff  and  he's  willing  to  pay  the  price." 
He  narrowed  his  eyes  speculatively.  "We'll 
scare  up  close  to  two  hundred  head,  William. 
And  they'll  bring  us  just  about  twenty  thousand. 
Maybe  a  thousand  or  so  above  that.  And,  Bill, 
did  you  ever  know  the  time  when  twenty  thou- 
sand dollars  would  look  more  like  twenty  thou- 

296 


The  Hand  of  Blenham 

sand  full  moons  just  showing  up  over  the  sky- 
line?" 

Bill's  grin  reflected  Steve's  lively  satisfaction. 
Now  there  would  be  the  money  for  old  Hell- 
Fire  Packard's  next  payment,  th^re  would  be  a 
long  respite  from  him,  there  would  be  ample  feed 
for  the  rest  of  the  cattle.  Steve  might  even  spend 
a  part  of  the  money  for  a  herd  of  calves  to  be  had 
dirt-cheap  just  now  from  the  Biddle  Morris  dairy 
outfit,  down  near  San  Juan. 

The  prospect  was  exceedingly  bright;  just  as 
though  in  truth  a  string  of  full  moons  were  shin- 
ing down  upon  them.  And  still  there  was  the 
shadow,  even  at  this  time,  the  shadow  cast  by 
Terry's  absence  and  silence.  If  she  were  only 
here  to  rejoice  with  them. 

Steve  snorted  his  disgust  with  himself,  got  on 
a  horse  and  went  streaking  across  the  fields,  rid- 
ing hard  as  was  a  habit  here  of  late,  yelling  an 
order  to  Barbee  as  he  went.  Barbee's  innocent 
blue  eyes  followed  him  thoughtfully:  then  Bar- 
bee  shrugged  and  spat  and  thereafter  called  to  his 
men  to  "get  busy."  The  round-up  began  im- 
mediately. 

Then  came  a  handful  of  long,  hot,  feverishly 
busy  days.  Strayed  steers  carrying  the  Number 
Ten  brand  were  hazed  back  to  the  big  fenced-in 
meadows  from  the  mountain  slopes,  were  counted 

297 


Man  to  Man 

and  held,  in  an  ever-swelling  herd.  There  was 
little  rest  for  the  men,  who,  shifted  from  one 
sweating  horse  to  another,  rode  late  and  early. 

Word  came  from  Doan  setting  the  date  for  the 
delivery  in  San  Juan.  Steve  wired  his  satisfac- 
tion with  the  arrangement,  undertaking  to  have 
the  cattle  in  the  stock  pens  just  out  of  the  town 
two  or  three  days  before  Doan's  coming.  And 
no  one  knew  better  than  did  Steve  Packard  the 
true  size  of  the  job  he  had  on  his  hands  at  this 
time  of  year  and  with  a  herd  of  close  to  two  hun- 
dred wild  steers. 

The  drive  began  one  morning  in  the  dark  long 
before  the  dawn.  Steve  estimated  that  he  could 
make  the  Rio  Frio  the  first  night  and  had  arranged 
beforehand  with  the  Talbot  boys  for  the  night's 
pasturage.  The  second  day  would  find  them  on 
the  edge  of  the  bad  lands;  his  wagons  hauling 
baled  hay  were  to  push  on  ahead  and  be  waiting 
at  the  only  sufficient  water-holes  to  be  found 
within  a  number  of  miles.  San  Juan  in  four  days 
was  the  schedule. 

"We'll  lose  weight  all  along  the  road,"  he  con- 
ceded. "But  it  can't  be  helped.  And  a  couple 
of  day's  rest  and  lots  of  feed  and  water  in  San 
Juan  before  Doan  shows  up  will  put  back  a  part  of 
the  lost  weight." 

He  had  made  allowances  for  a  hard  drive. 
298 


The  Hand  of  Blenham 

Nevertheless  the  actuality  was  a  sterner  matter 
than  he  had  foreseen.  All  along  the  way  the  feed 
was  scant.  Water  was  low  in  the  holes,  Rio  Frio 
for  the  first  time  in  years  was  a  mere  series  of 
shallow  pools.  The  blazing  heat  was  such  that 
men  and  horses  and  steers  all  suffered  terribly. 

At  the  end  of  the  second  day  he  ordered  a  full 
dozen  of  the  less  hardy  of  his  beasts  cut  out  from 
the  herd  and  turned  into  a  neighboring  range; 
it  was  questionable  if  they  "would  have  been  able 
to  drag  on  the  two  remaining  days  and  even  had 
they  done  so  they  would  have  brought  no  top 
price  from  the  buyer. 

The  drive  was  made  on  schedule  time.  Cir- 
cumstances not  only  permitted  but  insisted. 
There  were  no  places  for  loitering,  there  were 
only  the  major  water-holes  upon  which  Steve 
had  counted,  the  distances  between  them  regu- 
lating eacb*aday's  progress.  And  so  the  stock 
was  in  San  Juan  a  full  two  days  before  the  time 
for  Doan's  coming. 

For  Steve  the  two  days  dragged  heavily.  He 
camped  with  his  herd  on  the  edge  of  the  settle- 
ment, allowing  the  boys  to  disport  themselves  as 
they  saw  fit  a  large  part  of  the  time,  himself  hav- 
ing little  desire  for  the  bad  whiskey  and  crooked 
gaming  of  La  Casa  Blanca. 

Tuesday  morning  Doan  was  to  arrive.  Steve 
299 


Man  to  Man 

met  the  stage  and  one  glance  showed  him  that 
Doan  was  not  on  it.  He  asked  the  driver  if  he 
knew  anything  of  Doan  and  the  man  shook  his 
head.  Steve  supposed  that  he  was  coming  up 
from  the  railroad  by  auto  and  so  idled  about  the 
town  all  forenoon,  waiting. 

By  midday,  when  Doan  still  failed  to  put  in 
an  appearance,  Steve  had  grown  impatient.  By 
the  middle  of  the  afternoon  his  impatience  gave 
place  to  anger.  He  had  kept  his  appointment 
bringing  his  herds  over  a  hard  trail,  and  Doan 
with  nothing  to  do  but  travel  luxuriously,  had 
failed  him. 

But  it  was  not  until  the  stage  came  in  Wednes- 
day morning  and  again  brought  no  Doan  and  no 
word  of  Doan  that  Steve  telephoned  a  message  to 
the  nearest  Western  Union  office  at  Bidwell  de- 
manding to  know  what  the  trouble  was.  Not  only 
was  he  on  heavy  expenses;  his  mood  never  had 
been  one  to  take  kindly  to  the  long  waiting  game. 
And  yet  he  was  forced  to  wait  all  that  day  and  all 
the  next  day  with  no  word  from  Doan. 

He  telegraphed  again  Wednesday  night,  a 
third  time  Thursday  morning.  No  answers  came. 
But  a  little  before  noon,  Thursday,  Doan  came. 
Came  by  automobile  from  the  railroad,  a  man  with 
him.  Steve  saw  them  as  they  drove  into  town; 
he  noted  Doan's  thin  face  and  his  tall  form  in  the 

300 


The  Hand  of  Blenham 

gray  linen  duster;  then  he  marked  the  man  with 
him.     The  man  was  Blenham. 

Steve,  raw-nerved  through  these  long  hours  of 
inaction  and  uncertainty,  pushed  straightway  to 
Doan  bent  upon  demanding  an  explanation.  He 
got  an  inkling  of  one  from  an  unexpected  quarter, 
Blenham's  lips. 

"We  sure  appreciate  this,  Mr.  Doan,"  Blenham 
said,  getting  down  and  offering  his  hand  to  the 
cattle-buyer.  "Count  on  me  an*  ol'  rnan  Packard 
doin'  you  a  favor  any  time.  So  long." 

And  casting  to  Steve  a  look  of  blended  triumph 
and  venom  he  hurried  down  to  the  stable  and  his 
horse. 

"Mr.  Doan,"  said  Steve  bluntly,  "what  in 
hell's  name  do  you  mean  by  treating  me  this 
way?" 

Doan  turned  his  thin  impassive  face  with  the 
hawk-eyes  toward  young  Packard. 

"Who  do  you  happen  to  be  ?"  he  asked  coolly. 

"I'm  Steve  Packard  from  Ranch  Number 
Ten.  And  I've  got  a  herd  of  steers  out  here 
that's  been  waiting  for  you  some  time  now." 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Doan,  still  very  cool.  "Got 
my  wire,  didn't  you,  saying  that  I  was  unavoid- 
ably detained  ?" 

"I  did  not!"  snapped  Steve.  "Detained  by 
what?  Blenham?" 

301 


Man  to  Man 

"Strange,"  murmured  Doan. 

He  got  down  from  his  car  and  stretched  his 
long  legs. 

"I've  had  a  new  secretary,  Mr.  Packard.  I 
found  out  that  he  drank.  He  has  been  discharged. 
Hem.  Let  me  see:  you've  got  about  fifty  steers, 
haven't  you  ? " 

"I've  got  a  hundred  and  eighty-six,"  Steve  said 
sharply,  staring  at  Doan's  inscrutable  face  and 
wondering  just  what  was  up. 

"A  hundred  and  eighty-six!"  Doan  shook  his 
head.  "I  couldn't  take  that  many  on  just  now; 
I've  made  other  plans.  Unless,  of  course,  you 
are  in  a  position  to  tempt  me  to  buy  by  making  me 
a  very  attractive  figure!" 

Steve  came  a  sudden  step  nearer,  his  eyes 
blazing,  his  two  fists  clenched. 

"What's  this  game  of  yours?"  he  demanded. 
"Out  with  it.  What  are  you  up  to  ?  You  wired 
me  an  offer  of  ten  to  twelve  cents,  twelve  and  a 
half  for  the  fancy." 

"What!"  cried  Doan.  "Why,  my  dear  fel- 
low, you  must  have  lost  your  senses !  With  the 
market  the  way  it  is  now  I  don't  have  to  pay 
more  than  seven  and  eight  cents." 

Steve  waited  for  no  more.  His  days  of  wait- 
ing were  past.  He  drew  back,  swung  from  the 
shoulder  and  struck  with  all  of  his  might.  His 

302 


The  Hand  of  Blenham 

fist  against  Doan's  chin  hurled  the  lean  body  of 
the  cattle-buyer  half  across  the  street. 

"Barbee,"  said  Steve  quietly,  "round  up  the 
boys.  We  start  our  herd  back  in  ten  minutes." 

And  Barbee,  taking  stock  of  Steve's  white  face, 
went  hastily  on  his  errand. 


303 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

STEVE    RIDES    BY   THE   TEMPLE    PLACE 

*TP\EAR  me,  Mr.  Man!    How  savage  you  do 

LJ  look!" 

Steve  started  and  whirled.  No;  this  time  he 
was  not  dreaming.  It  was  Terry. 

Terry  laughed  lightly,  deliciously.  She  had 
grown  prettier.  She  had  learned  a  new  way  to 
smile.  No,  it  was  just  the  old  way,  after  all. 
But  she  had  discovered  a  new  way  to  do  her  hair, 
an  amazingly  charming  way.  Her  lips  were 
redder  than  ever  before;  her  eyes  were  gayer  and 
grayer  and  softer  and  sweeter.  Her  voice  tinkled 
with  new,  thrilling  music.  She  was  just  exactly 
perfect  in  Steve  Packard's  eyes. 

"You're  super,"  said  Steve.  "You're  super- 
lative. You  haven't  done  a  thing  all  these  long, 
weary  months  except  grow  more  devilishly  at- 


tractive." 


"Are  you  as  savage  as  you  looked  ?"  she  asked 
swiftly. 

For  a  brief  instant  he  turned  his  eyes  away  from 
her  and  gazed  after  a  herd  that  was  moving  slowly 
toward  the  north,,  Barbee  and  the  other  boys 
heading  again  toward  the  home  range.  But,  no 

304 


Steve  Rides  by  the  Temple  Place 

matter  what  rage  and  sullen  chagrin  lay  in  his 
heart,  his  eyes,  returning  to  Terry,  showed  that 
already  her  coming  had  worked  its  change.  He 
appeared  almost  content. 

"Are  you  going  to  shake  hands  ?"  he  asked. 

"Shall  I?"  she  asked.  "We  are  to  be  good 
friends  after  all?" 

"Or,  are  you  going  to  kiss  me  ?" 

Terry  arched  her  brows  at  him.  But  there  was 
a  live  fire  in  her  eyes  and  a  crimsoning  tide  under 
her  lovely  skin. 

"Smarty!"  cried  the  old  Terry.  "Just  try 
getting  fresh  with  me  and  you'll  get  your  face 
slapped!" 

Whereupon  Steve's  laughter  boomed  out  joy- 
ously. 

"It's  Terry  come  home  again  !"  he  announced  to 
the  open  meadow  about  them.  "Terry  herself." 

Was  it  Terry  herself?  She  seemed  strangely 
embarrassed  all  of  a  sudden.  Just  why  ?  Terry 
didn't  know. 

"We  are  going  out  in  my  car,"  she  said  hur- 
riedly. It  seemed  that  she  must  hasten  to  make 
some  safe  remark  each  time  that  his  eyes,  busied 
with  her,  rested  upon  her  eyes.  "We'll  be  at  the 
ranch  long  before  you  get  your  cows  home.  You 
may  come  to  see  me — if  you  please  to." 

"Who  is  we?"  he  asked. 
305 


Man  to  Man 

"Oh,"  said  Terry,  "that  means  Mrs.  Randall 
who  is  going  to  be  cook  and  chaperon." 

San  Juan  dozed  in  the  late  afternoon  heat. 
The  corrals  were  between  them  and  the  quiet 
street.  He  threw  out  his  arms,  caught  Terry 
in  them  and  kissed  her.  And  Terry,  whipping 
back,  slapped  his  face. 

"You — you "  she  panted,  her  face  scarlet. 

He  touched  tenderly  with  his  finger-tips  the 
place  where  her  hand  had  struck  him. 

"I'll  be  over  to  call  on  you  and  Mrs.  Randall," 
he  said.  "Real  soon." 

Now  as  Steve  Packard  rode  slowly  after  his 
cowboys  and  a  diminishing  herd,  the  dust-filled  air, 
dry  and  hot  as  it  was,  seemed  sweet  and  caress- 
ing to  his  temples,  his  eyes  mused  happily.  Blen- 
ham  had  just  worsted  him,  Blenham  had  tricked 
him,  had  put  him  to  the  heavy  expense  of  the 
long  drive,  had  knocked  his  steers  up  for  him,  had 
laughed  at  him. 

Very  well;  tally  for  Blenham.  A  matter  to 
be  considered  in  due  time.  A  body  blow,  per- 
haps, but  then  what  in  God's  good  world  is  a 
strong  body  for  if  not  to  buffet  and  be  buffeted  ? 
He  and  Blenham  would  come  to  grips  again,  soon 
or  late,  and  in  some  way  still  hidden  by  the  future 
matters  would  finally  adjust  themselves. 

306 


Steve  Rides  by  the  Temple  Place 

All  considerations  with  which  only  some  dim 
future  was  concerned.  Just  now,  in  the  living, 
breathing,  quivering  present  there  was  room  for 
but  the  one  thought :  Terry  had  come  back  to  him. 

Yes.  Terry  had  come  back  to  him.  And  he 
had  kissed  her.  And  she  had  slapped  him.  He 
smiled  and  again  his  finger-tips  went  their  way 
tenderly  to  his  cheek.  He  had  kissed  her  because 
he  loved  her,  meaning  her  no  harm,  offering  her  no 
insult.  She  had  slapped  him  because  she  was 
Terry,  and  because  she  couldn't  very  well  help  it. 
Not  because  she  did  not  love  him ! 

Somewhere  in  the  world,  off  in  some  misty  dis- 
tance, there  was  a  man  named  Blenham,  a  trick- 
ery, treacherous,  cruel  hound  of  a  man.  He 
would  require  attention  presently.  Just  now 

"You've  come  back  to  me!>J  whispered  Steve 
Packard. 

And  he  sighed  and  shook  himself  and  wished 
longingly  that  the  return  drive  were  over  and  that 
he  had  a  bath  and  a  shave  and  were  just  calling 
at  the  Temple  ranch. 

Though  presently  he  overhauled  his  men  Steve 
rode  all  that  day  pretty  well  apart,  maintaining  a 
thoughtful  silence  which  Barbee  and  the  others 
supposed  had  to  do  solely  with  the  failure  of  his 
plans  for  a  good  market.  His  men  knew  that  he 
had  banked  pretty  heavily  on  this  deal;  and  that 

307 


Man  to  Man 

now  again  he  would  be  confronted  by  the  old 
problem  of  finding  sufficient  feed  to  pull  his 
herds  through. 

Hay  was  scarce  and  high  and  would  need  to 
be  hauled  far,  making  its  final  cost  virtually  pro- 
hibitive. The  herders,  grumbling  among  them- 
selves, were  for  the  most  part  of  the  opinion  that 
he  should  have  accepted  his  defeat  at  Blenham's 
hands  and  sold  to  Doan  at  a  sacrifice  figure. 

That  night  they  camped  at  the  Bitter  Springs, 
making  but  a  brief  stop  to  water  and  feed  and 
rest  the  road-weary  cattle.  Then  in  the  night 
and  moving  slowly  they  pushed  on  planning  to 
get  to  the  next  water-holes  before  the  heat  of  an- 
other day.  And  now  Steve,  giving  his  orders  to 
Barbee,  left  them  and  struck  out  ahead. 

There  was  small  need  of  accommodating  his 
impatience  to  the  sluggish  progress  of  the  leg- 
dragging  brutes  and  there  were  matters  to  be 
arranged.  Further,  it  was  his  intention  to  have 
a  talk  with  Terry  Temple  just  as  soon  as  might 
be. 

That  day  Terry's  automobile  with  shrieking 
horn  swept  on  by  him.  He  caught  a  glimpse  of 
two  veils,  a  brown  and  a  black;  the  car's  top  was 
up.  Terry  appeared  not  to  see  him. 

"She  hasn't  lost  a  speck  of  her  impudence!" 

He  frowned  after  her  departing  car,  praying 
308 


Steve  Rides  by  the  Temple  Place 

in  his  heart  for  a  puncture  or  a  stalled  engine. 
She  deserved  as  much  for  the  way  in  which  she 
tooted  her  infernal  horn.  But  his  prayer  went 
unanswered  and  his  displeasure  vanished  presently 
as  he  pushed  on  steadily  in  her  wake,  eager  to 
come  to  the  end  of  his  ride. 

But  he  must  never  entirely  forget  the  panting 
herd  straggling  on  far  behind  him,  choking  and 
coughing  in  its  own  dust.  He  must  arrange  some- 
where, somehow  for  pasturage.  So  he  made  a 
detour  and  looked  in  on  Brocky  Lane  first,  then 
on  Rod  Norton.  Both  old  friends  were  glad  to  see 
him  and  gave  him  hard  brown  hands  in  grips 
that  were  good  to  feel. 

But  they  merely  shook  their  heads  when  he 
mentioned  his  errand.  Lane  had  sold  a  few  head 
last  week;  Norton  was  afraid  that  he  would  have 
to  make  a  sacrifice  sale  himself.  They  would  do 
anything  that  they  could  but  it  was  only  too  clear 
that  they  could  not  give  him  that  which  they  them- 
selves did  not  have  and  could  not  get. 

"Old  man  Packard,"  offered  Norton  bluntly, 
"is  the  only  man  I  can  think  of  who  has  pasture 
to  rent.  Drop  Off  Valley,  just  up  in  the  moun- 
tains back  of  your  place." 

Steve  laughed  shortly  and  swung  up  into  his 
saddle. 

"So  long,  Nort,"  he  said  colorlessly.     "The  old 

309 


Man  to  Man 

man  would  burn  his  grass  off  before  he'd  let  me 
have  it." 

And  he  rode  on,  two  problems  in  his  mind,  both 
growing  more  difficult  as  he  drew  nearer  the  home 
ranch.  Problem  One :  Just  what  was  Terry  going 
to  say  ?  Problem  Two:  How  was  he  going  to  pull 
his  stock  through  ? 

As  though  he  did  not  already  have  enough  on 
his  hands,  Bill  Royce  greeted  him  at  the  home 
ranch-house  with  the  significant  word — 

"Trouble!" 

"I  know  it,"  grunted  Packard,  swinging  down 
stiffly  from  his  saddle.  "What  kind  this  time, 
Bill?" 

"  Blenham-brand,  I'd  reckon,"  said  Bill  angrily. 
Steve  noted  that  both  of  the  old  hand's  cheeks 
were  flushed  hotly.  "Barbee  telephoned  in  about 
four  hours  ago.  Seven  steers  dead,  some  more 
sick.  An',"  the  explanation  coming  quickly, 
"Barbee's  got  the  hunch  Blenham  had  rode  on 
ahead  an'  had  poisoned  the  water-holes  an' " 

"Damn  him  !"  cried  Steve,  a  sudden  fury  seem- 
ing to  leap  out  upon  him  and  take  him  by  the 
throat.  "Am  I  to  stand  everything  from  that 
man  and  from  my  old  fiend  of  a  grandfather? 
It's  this  and  that  and  any  other  thing  they  want 
to  turn  loose  and  here  I  stick  like  a  cursed  toad- 
stool, doing  nothing  for  want  of  proof!  Proof," 

310 


Steve  Rides  by  the  Temple  Place 

he  snorted  disgustedly.  "Bill  Royce,  let's  quit 
waiting  for  anything  but  just  go  get  the  trouble- 
seeking  outfit!" 

"Which  sounds  good  to  me,"  retorted  Royce 
eagerly. 

And  yet  when  his  rage  cooled  a  bit  Steve  ground 
his  teeth  in  his  impotence.  He  must  wait  until 
Barbee  came  with  what  God  chose  to  leave  him 
of  his  steers,  he  must  hear  the  foreman's  account 
and  decide  whether  Blenham  were  really  at  the 
bottom  of  this  or  if  it  were  just  his  way  and  his 
men's  to  blame  all  things  upon  Blenham. 

"The  first  thing,  Bill,"  he  said  when  he  had 
turned  his  tired  horse  loose  in  the  pasture,  "is 
to  decide  what  we  are  going  to  do  with  what  cattle 
Blenham  hasn't  poisoned  for  us.  We  are  fed  off 
pretty  short  down  at  this  end.  I'll  ride  over  to 
the  Temple  place  and  see  if  we  can't  arrange  with 
Miss  Terry  to  run  a  few  head  there." 

"Yes,"  said  Royce  dryly.  "I'd  hurry  if  I  was 
you,  Steve.  But,  say!"  He  slapped  his  leg 
and  jerked  up  his  head.  "How  about  the  old 
Indian  Valley,  Drop  Off  Valley,  as  they  call  it 
now?" 

"Gone  crazy,  Bill  ?  When  did  my  grandfather 
ever  show  any  inclination  to  help  out  ? " 

Then  Royce,  thoroughly  excited,  explained. 
Andy  Sprague  from  beyond  the  ridge  had  ridden 


Man  to  Man 

by  only  yesterday  afternoon.  If  Royce  had  only 
known  at  that  time  that  Steve  was  bringing  back 
the  cattle  from  San  Juan  he  would  have  arranged 
with  Andy.  For  the  man  had  said  that  he  had 
just  bought  Drop  OIF  Valley  from  old  Packard; 
that  he  wouldn't  want  the  range  this  year  as  he 
had  only  recently  sold  close.  He  would  rent  and 
reasonably. 

"There's  close  on  a  couple  of  thousan'  acres  in 
there;  there's  plenty  water  an'  enough  good  grass 
to  run  two  or  three  hundred  head  easy  until  your 
feed  comes  in  again  down  this  way.  Nail  him, 
Steve;  for  the  love  of  Mike,  nail  Andy  Sprague 
quick  before  the  crooked  little  cuss  finds  out  jus' 
how  bad  you  need  the  pasture  an'  sticks  you  ac- 
cordin'.  Go  nail  him,  Steve." 

And  Steve,  seeing  hope  like  a  brightening  flush 
of  a  new  day,  hurried  to  the  corrals  and  a  fresh 
horse.  He  was  going  straight  after  Andy  Sprague. 
But 

"Guess  I'll  ride  by  the  Temple  place,"  he  s?id 
carelessly. 


312 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

DOWN   FROM   THE    SKY ! 

DROP  OFF  VALLEY,  its  name  won  to  it  by 
its  salient  feature,  was  but  a  long,  narrow, 
and  very  high  plateau  in  the  mountains  lying  to 
the  east  of  Ranch  Number  Ten.  It  was  well 
watered  from  springs  at  the  upper  end  which 
wandered  the  entire  length  of  the  tract  and  spilled 
down  the  cliffs  which  cut  in  abrupt  fashion  across 
the  lower  end,  making  a  natural  and  fearsome 
boundary. 

From  this  portion  of  the  "valley"  one  might 
kick  a  stone  a  sheer  and  dizzy  distance  down  into 
the  head-waters  of  Indian  Creek,  which  indicated 
the  beginning  of  the  narrow  pass  which  led  through 
the  mountains  and  to  the  misty  blue  hills  of  Old 
Mexico. 

Here  in  the  abundant,  rich,  dry  feed  wandered 
upward  of  two  hundred  head  of  Ranch  Number 
Ten  and  Temple  Ranch  cattle,  mingling  freely, 
the  herds  of  one  outfit  carrying  their  brands  in 
and  out  of  the  herds  of  the  other.  A  sign  and  a 
token  that  at  last  a  certain  dead-line  had  ceased 
to  exist. 

Steve  had  found  Andy  Sprague,  as  crooked  a 
313 


Man  to  Man 

little  man  as  he  looked  to  be  according  to  Bill 
Royce  and  others  who  should  know,  and  had  ar- 
ranged with  him  for  the  leasing  of  the  mountain 
pasturage.  Less  than  a  week  later  Sprague  was 
back  saying  that  he  had  seen  Hell-Fire  Packard 
and  that  that  old  mountain-lion  had  roared  at 
him  terribly,  had  threatened  him  with  utter  ruin 
if  ever  again  he  helped  out  Steve  Packard  and 
had  bade  him  carry  a  message. 

"Tell  that  smart  young  fool  of  a  gran'son  of 
mine,"  was  the  word  Sprague  gave  Steve,  "that 
right  now  I'm  gettin'  ready  to  polish  him  off  final. 
Tell  him  what  I  done  to  him,  blockin'  his  sale  in 
San  Juan,  wasn't  a  patch  on  what  I  can  do;  tell 
him  he'll  lose  more  steers  than  he  ever  los'  before. 
Tell  him  if  he  don't  want  to  get  hisself  all  mussed 
up  in  this  deal  he'd  better  come  over  to  my  place 
an'  throw  up  his  han's.  I'm  gettin'  mad!" 

Before  having  these  words  from  Andy  Sprague's 
twisted  mouth  Steve  Packard  had  been  puzzled  to 
explain  two  matters:  According  to  count,  on  one 
hand  there  were  too  few  cattle  by  perhaps  a  score 
while  on  another  hand  there  were  too  many  by  at 
least  a  half  dozen.  And,  though  Terry  Temple 
was  directly  concerned,  he  had  said  nothing  to  her. 

The  first  mystifying  suggestion  that  some 
strange  juggling  of  stock  had  been  going  on  came 
to  him  just  before  he  had  driven  the  hundred 


Down  from  the  Sky!    - 

and  eighty-six  steers  to  San  Juan.  Rounding  up 
his  own  stock  and  cutting  it  out  from  Temple 
stock,  he  had  had  the  opportunity  to  check  up 
carefully  in  Terry's  interests. 

Calves,  cows,  steers,  and  horses,  he  knew  to  the 
head  just  what  Terry  numbered  them.  And  in 
the  round-up,  going  over  his  figures  carefully, 
he  had  found  that  wearing  the  Temple  brand  there 
were  six  steers  more  than  there  should  be.  A 
matter  of  some  five  or  six  hundred  dollars. 

Were  it  only  the  financial  end  of  it  Steve  would 
have  thought  little  of  the  matter.  But,  going 
over  the  herd  animal  by  animal,  he  made  a  dis- 
covery which  shocked  him.  He  found  six  big 
steers  in  the  lot  which  wore  fairly  recently  burned 
Temple  brands — crudely  scrawled  over  the  brands 
of  the  Big  Bend  ranch,  old  man  Packard's  favorite 
outfit  in  the  north. 

It  was  impossible  to  know  just  how  long  ago 
a  searing-hot  iron  had  altered  the  range  indica- 
tion of  ownership;  Steve  could  merely  stare  and 
wonder  and  finally  hazard  a  guess.  Temple  had 
been  hard-driven;  he  had  succumbed  to  tempta- 
tion and  opportunity  as  he  had  to  whiskey  and 
many  other  things.  Seeing  life  obliquely  he  had  no 
doubt  told  himself  that  he  was  squaring  accounts. 
So,  in  the  end,  Steve  was  inclined  to  believe. 

Just  what  to  do  he  did  not  know.  It  seemed 
315 


Man  to  Man 

best  to  him  to  bide  his  time,  to  keep  his  eyes 
open,  to  hope  for  the  way  out  of  an  embarrassing 
situation.  He  would  willingly  have  made  restitu- 
tion himself,  to  save  Terry  from  knowing  and  to 
save  her  name  from  the  smudge  which  old  man 
Packard  would  eagerly  put  upon  it  were  he  of- 
fered the  opportunity.  And  right  here  was  the 
trouble;  he  did  not  care  to  let  his  grandfather 
know  what  had  happened. 

While  striving  with  this  matter  the  other  was 
brought  to  his  attention.  Also  at  the  time  of 
the  round-up  Barbee  reported  a  black-and-white 
steer  missing,  the  prize  of  the  beef  herd,  said  Bar- 
bee.  Strayed  into  some  far  out-of-the-way  canon, 
perhaps.  But  as  the  days  went  by  other  cattle, 
finally  totalling  a  score,  were  reported  missing. 
And  Steve  remembered  how  one  evening  he  and 
Terry  from  a  log  had  watched  Blenham  driving 
off  a  string  of  steers. 

"My  beloved  grandfather  has  no  love  for  the 
courts  of  law,"  mused  Steve  many  a  time.  "And 
he  knows  that  in  that  I  am  like  him.  So  to  his 
way  of  thinking  it's  just  Packard  eat  Packard 
and  the  rest  of  the  world  'Hands  Off.9  And  so  he 
is  going  the  limit.  Well,  I  guess  that's  as  good  a 
way  as  any  other." 

The  day  came  when  Steve  put  his  cattle  into 
Drop  Off  Valley.  The  herds,  his  and  Terry's,  were 

316 


Down  from  the  Sky! 

counted  twice,  once  as  they  filed  through  the  gate 
of  the  round-up  corrals,  again  as  they  were  turned 
into  the  upland  range.  Two  hundred  and  thirty- 
four  head. 

"Two  hundred  and  thirty-four  head  where 
I  defy  Blenham  or  the  devil  himself  to  steal  a 
single  one  of  them/'  said  Steve  positively. 

For  though  there  were  no  fences  here  nature 
had  raised  sufficient  barriers  in  the  way  of  the 
sheer  Drop  Off  Chasm  cutting  across  the  southern 
end  of  the  plateau  and  in  rocky,  uninviting  and 
all  but  impassable  mountain  peaks  on  north  and 
east  and  a  section  of  the  western  boundary. 

It  seemed  the  simplest  matter  in  the  world 
here  with  but  ordinary  diligence  and  vigilance 
on  the  part  of  his  cowboys  to  make  good  Steve's 
vow.  Therefore,  with  Barbee  in  charge  of  the 
men  here  and  under  instructions  to  keep  the  eyes 
of  trusted  night  riders  always  open,  Steve  thought 
to  have  heard  the  last  of  cattle  losses. 

The  steers  were  to  be  counted  every  day  if 
Barbee  thought  necessary;  so  much  Steve  had 
said  coolly,  merely  for  the  emphasis  of  the  words. 
Barbee  had  looked  at  him  curiously,  making  no 
rejoinder  and  going  about  his  business  with  a 
puzzled  look  on  his  face. 

A  week  later  Barbee  reported  to  Steve  down  at 
Ranch  Number  Ten. 

317 


Man  to  Man 

\  "Five  steers  gone,"  he  said  succinctly,  his  eyes 

hard  and  expectant,  challenging  his  employer's. 

"Gone?"  repeated  Steve.  "Where?  And 
when?" 

"I  don't  know,"  replied  Barbee.  "I  missed 
'em  four  days  ago.  I  wouldn't  believe  they'd 
gone  for  good.  I  didn't  see  how  they  could  of 
gone.  I've  looked  for  'em  ever  since;  I've  rode 
into  an'  out  of  every  canon  an'  pass;  I've  been 
everywhere  they  could  go.  But — they're  gone. 
Five  big  steers." 

For  a  moment  their  eyes,  Steve's  as  hard  as 
Barbee's,  held  steady  and  unwinking  in  a  deeply 
probing  gaze. 

"Barbee,"  said  Steve  after  a  little,  "remember 
the  night  Blenham  tried  to  bribe  you  with  a 
thousand-dollar  bill  ?" 

Barbee  flushed  and  nodded. 

"I  get  you,"  he  said  quietly.  "Think  he's 
bought  me  up,  maybe  ?" 

"I  don't  know  what  to  think.  But  this  much 
is  clear:  If  you  are  on  the  level  it's  up  to  you  to 
see  that  I  don't  lose  any  more  stock.  And  it's 
also  up  to  you  to  find  where  those  five  steers 
went.  And  get  them  back.  Every  single  hoof 
of  them." 

That  night  Steve  himself  spent  in  Drop  OfF 
Valley,  a  rifle  over  his  arm.  He  had  ordered  his 
men  to  carry  guns,  and  if  Blenham  or  another 

318 


Down  from  the  Sky! 

man  were  detected  driving  off  his  cattle,  to  shoot 
and  to  shoot  to  kill. 

But  the  next  day  he  returned  to  the  home 
ranch.  He  trusted  his  cowboys — all  but  Barbee, 
and  in  Barbee's  case  he  was  not  sure  what  to 
think — and  it  was  only  too  clear  to  him  that  there 
were  enough  men  there  to  cope  with  the  situation 
without  his  interference.  Two  days  later  Bar- 
bee  reported  to  him  again. 

The  boy's  face  was  haggard  and  drawn,  his 
eyes  burned  sullenly. 

"Six  head  more  gone !"  he  announced  defiantly. 
His  look  said  plainly:  "What  are  you  going  to 
say  about  it  ?  They're  gone." 

"So  you've  turned  cattle-thief,  have  you, 
Barbee  ?"  was  what  Steve  said. 

A  sickly  flush  stained  Barbee's  hollow  cheeks. 

"No !"  he  snapped  hotly.     "I  ain't.     But " 

He  swung  on  his  heel  and  started  to  the  door. 
Steve  called  him  back. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do,  Barbee  ?" 

"I'm  goin'  an'  get  Blenham,"  said  Barbee  be- 
tween his  teeth.  "I  been  wantin'  him  a  long 
time.  Now  this  is  his  work  an'  he  makes  it  look 
like  it's  mine.  I'm  goin'  an'  get  him." 

"If  it  is  Blenham,"  Steve  offered  coldly,  "and 
if  you  are  playing  square  with  me,  how  does  it 
happen  that  he  can  get  away  with  a  thing  like 
this  ?  Right  under  your  nose — and  you  not 

319 


Man  to  Man 

know?  It  sounds —  You  know  how  it  sounds, 
Barbee." 

"I  don't  know  how  he  does  it,"  growled  Bar- 
bee.  "I  don't  know  how  a  man  could  run  off 
a  string  of  cows  like  that  in  them  mountains  an' 
not  leave  no  tracks.  Why,  there  ain't  half-a- 
dozen  places  where  they  could  be  drove  out'n 
the  valley  an'  through  the  cliffs,  an'  I  been  watchin' 
every  one  of  them  places  myself  all  night  an' 
keepin'  the  other  boys  ridin'  until  they're  saddle- 
weary.  An' — an'  six  head  more  gone 

"You're  either  a  clever  little  actor,  Mr.  Bar- 
bee,"  muttered  Steve  sharply,  "or  you  are  straight, 
and  I'm  hanged  if  I  know  which.  Just  leave 
Blenham  alone  for  a  while;  go  back  to  your  job." 

Barbee,  his  spurs  dragging  disconsolately,  went 
out.  Steve  saw  how  the  boy's  shoulders  slumped 
and  again  asked  himself  if  Barbee  were  acting  or 
if  Blenham  were  simply  too  sharp  for  him  ?  In 
the  end  he  decided  that  he  had  better  move  his 
headquarters  to  Drop  Off  Valley. 

That  same  day  there  came  a  cowboy  riding  from 
the  Big  Bend  ranch  bringing  a  brief  note  from 
Steve's  grandfather.  It  ran: 

DEAR  STEPHEN:  Better  not  go  too  far,  my  boy. 
Eye  for  an  eye  is  first-class  gospel.  And  there  ain't 
no  game  yet  I  ever  been  bluffed  out  on.  Guess  you 
understand.  PACKARD. 

320 


Down  from  the  Sky! 

Steve  didn't  altogether  understand  but  the 
messenger  could  add  nothing  save  that  the  old 
man  was  chuckling  with  Blenham  when  he  gave 
the  message.  Steve,  in  no  mood  to  hear  of  his 
grandfather's  high  good  humor,  tore  the  letter 
to  bits,  distributed  them  upon  the  afternoon  wind 
and  told  the  lean  cowboy  that  he  could  tell 
Grandfather  Packard  and  Blenham  to  go  straight 
to  everlasting  blazes.  The  cowboy  laughed  and 
rode  away. 

Steve,  riding  slowly  through  the  lengthening 
shadows  falling  through  the  pines  of  the  moun- 
tain slopes  before  one  comes  to  Drop  Off  Valley, 
was  overtaken  by  Terry  Temple  riding  furiously. 
Terry's  horse  was  dripping  with  sweat;  Terry's 
face  was  troubled;  there  was  a  look  almost  of 
terror  in  her  eyes. 

"Steve  Packard,"  she  cried  out  as  she  came 
abreast  of  him  and  they  stared  into  each  other's 
eyes  in  the  dusk  under  the  big  trees.  "Tell  me 
everything  you  know  about  those  stolen  steers ! 
Everything." 

So  she  knew,  too  ?  Yet  he  had  cautioned  Bar- 
bee  not  to  talk  and  to  instruct  the  other  boys  to 
keep  their  mouths  shut  until  such  time  as  they 
could  understand  this  hand  being  played  in  the 
dark. 

321 


Man  to  Man 

"Who  told  you  ?"  he  asked  quickly. 

"I  saw  them!"  she  told  him,  her  spirit  shining 
like  fire  in  her  eyes.  "The  whole  six  of  them. 
I  knew  they  were  not  our  cattle.  I  saw  how  the 
brands  had  been  worked,  clumsily  worked.  Oh, 
my  God,  Steve  Packard,  what  does  it  mean  ?" 

Now  it  flashed  upon  him.  Terry  was  not  speak- 
ing of  the  cattle  lost  from  the  upland  valley; 
she  referred  to  those  half-dozen  big  steers  roaming 
on  the  Temple  ranch  whose  brands  had  been 
crudely  altered  from  the  sign  of  the  Big  Bend 
outfit  to  the  sign  of  her  father's.  Slowly  the  red 
blood  of  shame,  shame  for  her,  crept  up  into  his 
cheeks,  dusky  under  his  tan. 

"Terry,"  he  began  lamely. 

But  she  halted  him  with  the  word,  her  ear 
catching  the  subtle  note  of  sympathy,  her  hand 
upflung,  her  temper  flaring  out  that  he,  of  all 
men,  should  think  shame  of  her  blood. 

"My  father  was  never  a  thief!"  she  cried  hotly, 
her  voice  ringing  clear  and  certain.  "Not  that, 
Steve  Packard.  Don't  you  dare  say  that !  And 
yet—  You  saw  them,  you  knew,  and  you  didn't 
say  a  word  to  me,  to  anybody  ?" 

"I  didn't  know  what  to  say  or  what  to  do," 
he  explained  gently.  "I  thought  it  best  just  to 
wait,  to  hope  for  the  sense  of  all  this  infernal 

jumble.     I  hoped " 

322 


Down  from  the  Sky! 

"You  big  fool!"  she  called  him  with  all  due 
emphasis.  "Just  like  all  of  the  rest  of  your  blun- 
dering sex.  If  the  good  Lord  had  stopped  with 
the  job  of  making  Adam,  his  whole  creation 
wouldn't  have  been  worth  the  snap  of  my  thumb 
and  finger." 

"It  isn't,  anyway,"  said  Steve.  "I  wouldn't 
swap  your  little  finger  for  a  king's  gold  crown " 

"Moonshine,"  cut  in  Terry.  "Listen  to  me, 
Steve  Packard:  You  saw  those  swapped  brands 
and  you  kept  your  mouth  shut." 

"It  is  generally  considered " 

"I  said  to  listen  to  me !  You  didn't  say  a  word 
to  me  because  you  believed  my  dad  was  a  cattle- 
thief!" 

Steve,  despite  himself,  shifted  uneasily  in  his 
saddle  and  finally  dropped  his  eyes.  Terry  sat 
there  staring  at  him  fixedly,  her  own  eyes  wide 
open  and  again  harboring  that  look  that  was 
almost  fear. 

"You — you —  Oh,  Steve  Packard !  This  is 
contemptible  of  you!" 

Then  he  lifted  his  eyes  and  looked  at  her  solely 
enough. 

"Terry  Temple,"  he  said  very  gently,  "I  pray 
God  that  you  are  right  and  that  I  am  wrong.  I 
did  not  know,  I  only  saw  what  I  saw,  and  won- 
dered and  kept  my  mouth  shut.  But — listen  to 

323 


Man  to  Man 

me  now,  Terry  Temple.  You  are  not  the  one  to 
dodge  an  issue,  no  matter  how  hard  it  is  to  face 
it.  Tell  me:  If  your  father  did  not  shift  those 
brands,  then  who  did  ?  And  why  ?  Don't  you 
see  that  is  what  it  amounts  to,  that  is  what  we've 
got  to  answer?" 

"Blenham!"  she  told  him  swiftly,  hardly 
waiting  for  him  to  finish.  "Blenham,  under 
orders.  Orders  from  your  precious  old  thief  of  a 
grandfather!" 

He  smiled  back  at  her,  hoping  to  coax  an  an- 
swering smile  to  her  lips  and  into  her  troubled 
eyes.  But  she  only  shook  her  head  and  went  on 
steadily. 

"  Recrimination  of  a  sort 

"Recrimination  is  quite  some  word,  no  matter 
what  it  means,"  sniffed  Terry.  "But  we  can 
leave  it  out.  In  words  of  one  syllable,  your  old 
thief  of  a  grandfather  ordered  his  pet  dog  and  sub- 
thief  to  go  tie  something  on  poor  old  dad.  And 
you  fell  for  it !  You  ought  to  go  to  a  school  for 
the  simple-minded." 

"Just  what,"  demanded  Steve  equably,  "do  you 
suppose  a  play  like  that  would  win  for  anybody  ? 
Any  time  my  old  thief  of  a  grandfather,  as  you 
call  him,  hands  an  enemy  of  his  several  hundred 
dollars  in  beef  cattle,  why,  just  please  wake  me  up." 

"A  play  like  that  is  just  what  old  Hell-Fire 

324 


Down  from  the  Sky! 

would  be  up  to  right  about  now,"  she  told  him 
positively.  "You  have  been  proving  something 
too  much  for  him  to  swallow  whole  and  boots  on; 
your  chipping  in  with  us  that  time  you  took  the 
mortgage  over  made  him  hungrier  than  ever  to 
gobble  up  the  crowd  of  us.  So  he  plays  the  dirty 
trick  of  making  it  appear  my  father  is  a  cattle- 
thief." 

"Blenham  might  do  a  trick  like  that.  My 
grandfather  wouldn't.  That  is,  I  don't  think  he 
would." 

"Better  hedge!  Wouldn't  he,  though !  He's 
always  been  as  mean  as  gar-broth;  the  older  he 
gets  the  meaner  and  nastier  he  is.  He'd  do  any- 
thing to  double-cross  a  Temple  and  you  know  it. 
It's  one  crooked  play;  there'll  be  more  like  it. 
Just  you  see,  Steve  Packard.  And  the  next  one 
—at  least  if  it  concerns  me — you  see  that  you  let 
me  know  about  it  instead  of  going  around  like  a 
dumb  man." 

Then  he  blurted  out  word  of  the  recent  losses 
from  Drop  Off  Valley.  For  her  herds  mingled 
there  with  his  and  a  part  of  the  losses  were  to  be 
borne  by  her. 

"I'm  on  my  way  there  how,"  he  concluded. 
"  I've  an  idea- 

"  You  haven't ! "  she  interrupted.  "  Steve  Pack- 
ard, I  don't  believe  you  ever  had  an  idea  in  your 

325 


Man  to  Man 

life.  Don't  you  know — don't  you  know  what's 
going  with  those  steers  up  there  ?" 

"Do  you?" 

"You  just  bet  your  life  I  do!  It's  that  crook 
of  a  Yellow  Barbee,  in  cahoots  with  that  crook  of 
a  Blenham  who's  taking  orders  from  that  crook  of 
an  old  Hell-Fire  Packard!  Can't  you  see  their 
play?" 

"I  rather  think  I  can.  But  I  don't  happen  to 
be  as  positive  about  the  unknown  as  you  do." 

"You're  just  a  man,"  said  Terry.  "That's 
why.  And  now  you  are  on  your  way  to  the  feed- 
ing-grounds up  there,  to  come  in  and  say,  'Here 
I  am,  Barbee,  come  to  watch  you  and  see  that 
you  don't  steal  any  more  stock  for  me  to-night.' 
That  the  idea?" 

Steve  laughed. 

"Not  exactly.  I  had  intended  leaving  my 
horse  before  I  got  to  the  rim  of  the  valley  and 
going  on  on  foot,  not  telling  everybody  what  I 
was  about." 

"And  you'd  come  to  the  rim  of  the  valley  either 
by  Hell  Gate  pass  or  through  the  old  Indian  Trail, 
wouldn't  you  ?  And  Barbee  or  Blenham  would 
see  that  both  ways  were  watched." 

"You  seem  to  know  the  trails  rather  well," 
he  began,  but  she  merely  broke  in  : 

"That's  not  all  I  know  about  this  neck  of  the 

326 


Down  from  the  Sky! 

woods,  either,  Steve  Packard.  Maybe  it's  lucky 
for  you  and  for  me  too  that  you  told  me  all  this. 
I'll  take  you  into  Drop  Off  Valley  to-night,  and 
Blenham  and  Yellow  Barbee  can  watch  all  they 
please  and  never  guess  we're  there.  For  there's 
a  way  up  that  not  even  Blenham  knows  and  where 
they  will  never  look  for  us.  Come  on,  Steve  Pack- 
ard; use  a  spur." 

She  shot  by  him,  leading  the  way. 

So  Steve  and  Terry  rode  through  the  forests, 
passing  from  the  dull  fringe  of  the  day  into  the 
calm  glory  of  the  night,  feeling  the  air  grow  cooler 
and  sweeter  against  their  faces,  sensing  the  shut- 
ting-in  about  them  of  the  gentle  serenity  of  the 
wilderness.  They  followed  little-travelled  trails 
where  she  rode  ahead  and  he,  following  close  at 
her  horse's  heels,  was  glad  each  time  that  an  open 
space  beyond  or  a  ridge  crested  showed  him  her 
form  pricked  clearly  against  the  sky. 

They  spoke  less  and  less  as  they  went  on. 
Deeper  grew  the  silences  into  which  they  made 
their  way,  with  only  the  gush  of  a  mountain 
brook  or  the  fluttering  of  a  startled  bird  or  the 
rustle  of  dead  leaves  under  some  alert  little  wild 
thing,  just  these  sounds  occasionally  and  ever  the 
soft  thud  of  shod  hoofs  on  leaf  mould  and  loose 
soil. 

The  stars  multiplied  swiftly,  grew  in  brilliancy, 

327 


Man  to  Man 

But  down  here  close  to  the  face  of  the  earth  where 
the  shadows  were,  the  dark  was  impenetrable. 

For  many  a  mile  Terry  led  the  way  through  the 
forests.  Steve  was  on  the  verge  of  suggesting 
that  she  had  lost  her  way,  when  she  turned  off  to 
the  right  and  down  a  long  slope  in  so  decided  a 
fashion  that  he  closed  his  lips  to  his  suspicion. 

She  knew  where  she  was  going;  as  he  once  again 
saw  her  body  against  a  patch  of  sky — she  had  gone 
down  the  slope  and  climbed  a  ridge  ahead — and 
as  he  noted  her  carriage  and  the  poise  of  a  chin 
for  the  instant  clearly  outlined,  he  knew  that  she 
was  sure  of  herself.  Well,  she  was  that  sort  of  a 
girl;  she  might  have  confidence  in  herself  and  a 
man  might  place  his  confidence  with  hers. 

So  at  last  Terry  brought  him  down  into  a  creek- 
bed  and  the  bottom  on  a  steep-sided  canon.  He 
merely  said,  "I'll  take  your  word  for  it!"  when 
she  told  him  that  this  was  the  deep-cleft  ravine 
which  lay  like  a  gash  at  the  base  of  the  sheer 
Drop  Off  Cliffs. 

Yonder,  perhaps  a  mile  ahead  and  yet  promi- 
nently asserting  itself  to  their  view  because  of  a 
certain  widening  and  straightening  of  the  canon 
here,  a  bold  head  of  cliffs  stood  out  like  a  monster 
carving  in  ebony.  Up  there,  at  the  top  of  these 
cliffs,  was  the  southern  end  of  Drop  Off  Valley. 

"And  it  is  up  those  cliffs  that  we  are  going," 

328 


Down  from  the  Sky! 

Terry  announced  when,  having  drawn  nearer, 
they  stopped  again  to  gaze  upward.  "There's 
a  trail  climbing  straight  up  from  the  bed  of  the 
pass;  a  trail  to  go  hand-and-foot  style.  Once  on 
top  we'll  be  among  Barbee's  herds,  Barbee  guess- 
ing nothing  of  our  coming  since  he'll  be  busy 
watching  the  other  ways  in.  And—  Look  !" 

They  were  close  together  and  she  gripped  his 
arm  in  her  sudden  amazement  while  she  threw  out 
one  hand  pointing.  He  heard  her  little  gasp; 
he  looked  upward;  an  astonished  ejaculation 
broke  from  his  own  lips.  A  breathless  moment 
and  already  the  thing,  appearing  from  the  black 
nothingness,  silhouetted  but  a  moment  against 
the  sky,  was  gone  and  he  vaguely  saw  Terry's 
face  turned  toward  him  while  they  sought  to 
find  each  other's  eyes  and  know  if  each  had  seen 
what  the  other  had  glimpsed. 

"It^s  impossible!"  he  muttered.  "We  are 
imagining  things." 

"Wait!"  said  Terry.     "Maybe  after  all " 

They  waited  impatiently,  their  bleod  atingle. 
And  in  a  very  few  moments  there  was,  seeming 
absurd  and  impossible,  a  repetition  of  the  vision 
which  had  so  startled  them:  a  black  form  at  the 
head  of  the  cliffs,  the  field  of  star-strewn  sky  back 
of  it  limning  it  into  vivid  distinctness — the  ebon 
bulk  of  a  steer  moving  straight  out  from  the 

329 


Man  to  Man 

of  the  precipice,  straight  out  a  half-dozen  feet 
into  nothingness  of  empty  space,  then  slowly 
descending  through  the  air,  gone  silently  in  the 
deeper  shadows  of  the  canon  below ! 

"  Block  and  tackle ! "  muttered  Steve  abruptly. 
"A  small  steel  cable.  Two  or  three  men  up  there; 
a  man  on  horseback  down  below.  And  while 
Barbee  and  the  boys  guard  the  other  end " 

"Blenham  puts  one  across  on  us  down  here!" 
Terry  finished  it  for  him. 

"Only  here's  where  we  put  one  over  on  Blen- 
ham," rejoined  Steve  hotly.  He  threw  a  car- 
tridge into  his  rifle-barrel  and  spurred  ahead  of 
her.  "You  stay  here,  Terry.  I " 

"Will  I?"  Terry  retorted  with  animation. 
"Not  on  your  life,  Steve  Packard !  If  this  is 
the  beginning  of  Blenham's  finish —  Well,  I'm 
in  on  it." 


330 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE    STAMPEDE 

TERRY  had  sensed  something  of  the  truth. 
In  its  way  here  was  the  beginning  of  the  end 
of  many  things.  Before  she  and  Steve  Packard, 
making  what  haste  was  possible  in  the  thick  dark 
and  with  what  silence  was  allowed  them,  had  gone 
a  score  of  paces  deeper  into  the  canon,  the  crack  of 
a  rifle  shouted  its  reverberating  message  of  menace 
back  and  forth  in  the  rocky  ravine,  a  spurt  of 
flame  showed  where  the  rifleman  stood  upon  a 
pinnacle  of  rock  almost  directly  above  their  heads 
and  there  came  the  further  sounds  of  men's  startled 
voices  and  the  scampering  of  horses'  hoofs,  fleeing 
southward  through  the  pass. 

"They  hadj  lookouts  all  along!"  cried  Steve 
over  his  shoulder,  discarding  caution  and  secrecy 
and  throwing  his  rifle  to  his  shoulder.  "Better 
holdback,  Terry!" 

He  fired,  accepted  the  precarious  chances  of- 
fered him  by  an  uneven  and  unknown  trail  in  the 
dark  and  raced  on  deeper  and  deeper  into  the  long 
chasm.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  glimpsed 
something  moving  at  the  top  of  the  cliffs  just  about 

331 


Man  to  Man 

the  place  whence  Blenham's  men  had  lowered  the 
steers.  He  asked  no  question  but  threw  up  his 
gun-barrel  and  fired  again. 

From  straight  in  front  of  him  there  came  back 
to  his  ears  the  clang  and  thud  of  iron  horseshoes 
upon  granite,  the  rattle  of  rocks  along  the  trail; 
now  and  again  he  saw  a  spark  struck  out  under- 
foot. Then,  far  ahead  as  the  canon  widened  sud- 
denly and  a  little  thinning  of  the  darkness  resulted, 
he  made  out  dim,  running  forms,  and  again  he  fired 
from  his  own  leaping  horse. 

A  flying  bullet  might  find  a  target  and  it  might 
not;  at  any  rate  the  sound  of  the  shots  volleyed 
and  boomed  echoingly  between  the  stone  walls 
imprisoning  them,  and  Barbee  or  one  of  Barbee's 
men  should  hear.  Steve  was  estimating  hope- 
fully as  he  dashed  on  after  the  fugitives  and  as 
Terry  dashed  on  after  him,  that  the  men  at  the 
top  of  the  cliffs  would  not  try  to  come  down  now, 
not  knowing  who  or  how  many  the  attackers 
were,  but  would  seek  escape  above. 

Then,  if  his  cowboys  heard  and  rode  toward 
the  cliffs,  it  was  all  in  the  cards  that  they  might 
intercept  at  least  a  couple  of  Blenham's  tools. 

A  running  form  almost  at  his  side  drew  his  at- 
tention briefly,  and  all  but  drew  hot,  questing 
lead  after  it.  Then  he  made  out  that  it  was  but 
one  of  the  stolen  steers,  abandoned  now;  he 

332 


The  Stampede 

pressed  by,  firing  time  after  time  into  the  canon 
ahead  of  him.  And  behind  him  he  heard  Terry's 
voice,  eager  and  fearless,  crying  out : 

"Good  boy,  Steve  Packard!  We'll  get  'em' 
yet!" 

A  spurt  of  flame  from  far  ahead  and  close  to  the 
wall  of  the  canon,  the  crack  of  another  rifle,  long 
drawn  out/and  the  whine  of  a  bullet  singing  its 
vicious  way  overhead,  and  again  Steve  fired,  an- 
swering shot  with  shot.  He  heard  a  man  shout 
and  fired  in  the  direction  of  the  voice.  And  then 
the  only  sounds  rising  from  the  narrow  gorge 
were  those  of  running  horses  and  the  accompany- 
ing noises  of  rattling  stones. 

Now  the  way  was  again  tortuous,  pitch-black, 
boulder-strewn.  Steve  slowed  down  rather  than 
break  his  horse's  legs  or  his  own  neck,  not  knowing 
whether  to  turn  to  right  or  left.  In  a  moment  of 
uncertainty  he  felt  and  heard  Terry  push  ahead 
of  him.  He  heard  her  hurrying  on  and  followed, 
shouting  to  her  to  come  back.  Ten  minutes  later, 
out  of  the  pass  now  and  upon  a  low-lying  ridge 
whence  he  could  look  across  the  hills  billowing 
away  darkly  toward  the  southland,  he  came  up 
with  her  again. 

"They  got  off  that  way."  She  pointed  south. 
"Saw  one  figure  and  maybe  two  going  down  the 
slope.  There's  no  use  following.  The  way  is 

333 


Man  to  Man 

too  open  and  it's  too  dark.  They've  got  away 
after  all." 

"For  to-night,"  said  Steve.  "But  maybe  the 
fellows  at  the  top  of  the  cliffs ' 

"I'll  show  you  the  way  up,"  said  Terry. 

So  without  delaying  they  turned  back  and 
came  presently  under  Drop  Off  Cliffs  again.  Here 
they  left  their  horses  and,  Terry  showing  the  way, 
found  the  old  path  up  the  precipice.  Along  many 
a  narrow  shelf  of  rock  they  went,  over  many  a 
gigantic  granite  splinter  where  foothold  was  pre- 
carious enough,  up  many  a  steep  climb.  But  in 
their  present  mood  they  would  have  achieved 
even  a  more  difficult  and  more  hazardous  task 
with  eagerness  and  assurance.  Twenty  minutes 
brought  them  to  the  top. 

"Who's  that  ?"  shouted  a  sudden  voice  as 
Steve's  hat  came  up  out  of  the  void.  "Hands 
up!" 

"That  you,  Barbee  ?"  grunted  Steve.  "Hands 
up  ?  I'd  drop  a  clean  hundred  feet  if  I  did  a 
fool  trick  like  that.  Did  they  get  away?  The 
men  up  here  ?" 

He  wriggled  up  to  the  top,  lay  on  his  stomach 
and  gave  a  hand  to  Terry,  drew  her  to  lie  a  mo- 
ment breathless  at  his  side  and  then  again  turned 
to  Barbee.  There  was  another  man  with  him  and 
both  were  looking  wonderingly  at  Steve  and  Terry. 

334 


The  Stampede 

"I  never  heard  a  man  say,"  muttered  the 
astounded  Barbee,  "that  there  was  stair-steps 
up  here !  For  a  man  an'  girl  to  come  up " 

"And  for  our  cows  to  go  down!"  cried  Steve, 
on  his  feet  now  and  coming  to  Barbee's  side. 
"You  heard  everything,  Barbee?  You  know 
what  has  happened  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Barbee.  "A  hundred  yards  over 
that  way — "  he  pointed  along  the  cliff's  edge — 
"where  a  twisted  cedar-tree  stands  in  a  little 
washout,  not  hardly  to  be  noticed  unless  you're 
on  the  lookout  for  it,  they  had  their  pulleys 
hitched  an'  a  long  steel  cable.  It  was  easy  shoot- 
in',  come  to  think  of  it.  Jus'  rope  a  cow,  cinch 
her  up  tight  with  two  big  straps  they  had  all 
ready,  slip  a  hook  through  the  belly-band,  an' 
lower  away !  Pretty  smooth,  huh  ?" 

"And  they  all  got  away  ?" 

"No,  they  didn't,"  said  Barbee  queerly.  "I 
got  one  of  'em ! " 

"You  did?"  Steve  swung  back  toward  him 
eagerly.  "Who  is  he,  Barbee?  And  where  is 
he  ?  I  want  a  talk  with  him." 

Barbee  shook  his  head  and  reached  for  his 
tobacco  and  papers.  He  was  young  after  all, 
was  Barbee,  and  this  was  his  first  man. 

"Andy  Sprague,  it  was,"  said  Barbee.  "He's 
dead  now." 

335 


Man  to  Man 

There  fell  a  heavy,  breathless  silence  upon  the 
three  standing  there  under  the  stars.  Terry 
shivered  as  though  with  cold  and  drew  a  step 
closer  to  Steve;  he  felt  her  hand  on  his  arm.  Bar- 
bee  lighted  his  cigarette,  his  hands  steady,  but  his 
face  looking  terribly  serious  in  the  brief-lived 
light  shed  upon  it. 

"I  heard  you  shootin',"  said  Barbee.  "I  rode 
this  way,  on  the  jump.  I  was  only  about  a  mile 
up  the  valley;  maybe  a  shade  less.  He  had  his 
horse  close  an'  was  on  him  an'  poundin'  leather 
lively  to  get  out.  We  come  pretty  close  to  run- 
nin'  into  each  other.  I  hollered  at  him  to  hold 
on  an'  he  jus'  rode  on  his  spurs  an'  I  shot.  Emp- 
tied my  gun.  Got  him  twice,  bein'  that  lucky, 
an'  him  that  unlucky.  He  slid  off  his  cayuse  an' 
clawed  aroun'  an' — an'  he's  dead  now,"  ended 
Barbee  briefly. 

"Did  he  tell  you  anything?  Did  he  say  any- 
thing that  would  implicate  anybody?" 

"Meanin',"  said  Barbee  steadily,  "did  he  squeal 
on  his  pals  ? " 

"Just  that.     Did  he  mention  any  names  ?" 

"No,"  replied  Barbee  thoughtfully.  "He  jus' 
cusses  me  an'  dies  game.  But  this  here  was  in 
his  pocket." 

He  passed  it  to  his  employer.  It  was  a  bit  of 
note-paper.  Steve  and  Terry  read  it  together 

336 


The  Stampede 

as  Steve  struck  one  match  after  another.  Then 
they  looked  into  each  other's  faces,  grown  very 
tense,  while  Barbee  smoked  in  silence.  The  few 
words  were : 

BLENHAM:  This  here  Mex  don't  seem  to  know  what 
I  mean.  Next  time  send  a  man  as  can  talk  English. 
Anyway  I  am  coming  to-night.  I  don't  want  no  kill- 
ing if  it  ain't  necessary,  but  there  ain't  going  to  be  a 
hide  or  hoof  left  in  Drop  Off  by  morning. 

And  the  signature,  cramped  and  stiff,  was  that  of 
Steve's  grandfather. 

"So,"  muttered  Steve  heavily.  "The  old  man 
has  gone  the  limit,  has  he  ?  He  meant  it  when 
he  said  he'd  stop  at  nothing  to  smash  me.  And 
yet  I  can't  believe ' 

"Let  me  see  it  again,"  Terry  commanded. 

She  took  the  paper  from  his  fingers  and  with  it 
his  block  of  sulphur  matches.  For  even  Terry, 
to  whom  old  man  Packard  was  as  relentless  and 
unscrupulous  as  Satan  himself,  hesitated  to  be- 
lieve that  he  was  hand  in  glove  with  Blenham  in 
this. 

There  might  be  a  way  to  read  between  the 
lines,  to  come  to  some  other  understanding  of  the 
baffling  situation.  Evidently  the  old  man  had 
given  the  note  to  the  "Mex"  who  did  not  know 
enough  of  the  English  language  to  carry  word 
of  mouth;  the  Mex  had  passed  it  to  Sprague. 

337 


Man  to  Man 

Steve  and  Barbee  and  the  man  with  Barbee — 
an  old  Ranch  Number  Ten  hand  named  Bandy 
Oliver — had  stepped  aside  quietly.  Terry  stood 
with  the  note  in  her  hand,  forgetting  it  for  the 
moment.  So,  at  the  last,  matters  had  come  to 
this:  There  lay  a  man  over  yonder,  dead,  with 
Barbee's  lead  in  him. 

And  old  man  Packard  was  coming  to-night, 
now  of  all  times  when  Steve's  heart  was  hard, 
when  his  brain  was  hot  with  his  fury,  when  he  had 
just  come  upon  men  stealing  his  stock  and  had 
learned  that  his  own  grandfather,  the  old  moun- 
tain-lion from  the  north,  was  one  of  them. 

"If  they  meet  to-night,"  said  Terry,  "those 
two  Packards,  there  are  going  to  be  other  men 
killed.  Good  men  and  bad  men.  And,  as  likely 
as  not,  Blenham  won't  be  one  of  them." 

"There  was  another  jasper  with  Sprague.  He 
got  away.  That  way,  I  think.  Couldn't  say, 
but  there  might  have  been  more;  what  with  the 
dark  an'  the  cattle  scared  an'  churnin'  aroun'." 

Steve  with  Barbee  and  Bandy  Oliver  had  moved 
slowly  away  and  toward  the  upper  end  of  the 
plateau.  Detached  words,  fragments  of  their 
speech,  floated  back  to  her  more  and  more  indis- 
tinctly on  the  night  wind  that  never  sleeps  upon 
these  uplands. 

Terry  turned  from  them  and  stood  for  a  little 

338 


The  Stampede 

looking  down  into  the  black  void  of  the  canon 
into  which  the  stolen  cattle  had  been  lowered, 
from  which  she  and  Steve  had  just  climbed.  She 
fancied  that  the  darkness  down  there  was  thin- 
ning. The  dawn  was  coming  up  almost  imper- 
ceptibly over  the  mountain-tops,  filtering  wanly 
into  the  depths  of  the  canons.  The  night  had 
rushed  by;  it  would  soon  be  day. 

And  old  man  Packard  had  not  come.  Thank 
God  for  that.  Down  in  her  heart  Terry  was  con- 
scious of  a  leaping  gladness.  She  knew,  admitted 
now,  that  she  had  been  afraid.  A  man  lay  dead 
over  yonder;  if  Packard  met  Packard  to-night 
there  would  be  other  men  dead.  Terry  shivered 
and  drew  back  from  the  edge  of  the  precipice. 

"It's  always  colder  just  before  day,"  she  told 
herself. 

"Sunrise  already?" 

Steve's  voice,  borne  to  her  ears  with  startling 
distinctness.  He  had  not  come  nearer;  maybe 
the  dawn  wind  was  stiffening,  thus  bearing  his 
words  to  her  more  clearly.  Or  it  might  be  that 
Steve  had  lifted  his  voice  suddenly. 

Why  should  a  man  be  startled  by  a  new  sun- 
rise ?  True,  the  night  had  gone  quickly,  but— 

"The  sun  never  rose  there !"  Steve's  voice  again, 
thrilling  through  her  with  its  portent.  "It's  fire — 
range  fire — in  a  dozen  places !" 

339 


Man  to  Man 

A  bright  glow  lay  across  the  far,  upper  end  of 
Drop  Off  Valley.  At  first  one  might  have  done 
as  Steve  Packard  did  and  wondered  what  had 
happened  to  the  sun.  The  sky  had  merely  bright- 
ened warmly,  slowly,  gradually,  showing  a  hint 
of  pink.  And  then,  as  the  bone-dry  grass  here 
and  there  had  caught,  vivid  streaks  of  flame  and  a 
veritable  devil's  dance  of  a  myriad  sparks  shot 
high  skyward.  And,  as  Steve  had  cried  out,  not 
in  one  place  only,  but  in  a  dozen  spots  had  the 
fires  been  lighted. 

"To  herald  the  wrathful  coming  of  Hell-Fire 
Packard!" 

Such  was  the  thought  springing  full-fledged  into 
Terry's  brain,  into  Steve's,  into  Yellow  Barbee's. 
A  chain  of  fires  had  been  started  across  the  whole 
width  of  the  feeding  grounds.  Now  the  rising 
wind  made  of  it  a  sudden  burning  barrier  that 
extended  from  side  to  side  of  Drop  Off  Valley, 
came  rushing  toward  the  lower  end,  threatening 
to  leave  but  a  black  charred  devastation  of  the 
precious  pasturage. 

Barbee  had  run  and  thrown  himself  upon  his 
horse.  Steve  had  grasped  the  dragging  reins  of 
Andy  Sprague's  mount.  Terry  saw  him  and 
his  two  cowboys  swing  about  toward  the  upper 
end. 

"Terry!"  he  shouted  over  his  shoulder. 
340 


The  Stampede 

"Down  the  cliffs  again;  quick !  The  fire  is  com- 
ing this  way;  the  herds  will  stampede !" 

There  was  only  the  sound  of  thudding  hoofs 
as  the  three  men  rode  furiously  to  meet  the  menace 
the  dawn  had  brought  and  seek  to  grapple  with 
it.  Then  that  sound  had  gone  and  its  place,  for 
a  little  taken  by  heavy  silence,  gradually  gave 
way  to  new  sounds.  The  crack  of  rifles,  faintly 
heard — thin  voices  of  men  shouting  a  long  way 
off — a  sound  like  that  of  a  distant  sea,  moving 
restlessly — grown  to  suggest  the  coming  of  a 
storm  that  ever  swelled  in  violence — and  then  a 
deep  and  deepening  rumble,  like  thunder. 

The  herd  had  stampeded. 

To  Terry  there  came  then,  for  the  first  time  in 
her  life,  the  sense  of  utter  helplessness  and  hope- 
lessness. At  least  the  others  were  doing  some- 
thing, no  matter  how  fruitless  it  might  prove, 
while  she  was  doing  nothing.  Steve  was  riding 
full-tilt  to  meet  the  herd.  She  saw  him  and  his 
men,  strange  figures  in  the  uncertain  light,  loom- 
ing big  against  the  dawn  sky  and  the  fires'  glow. 
They  were  shouting,  waving  their  arms.  Then, 
going  down  over  a  swell  of  earth  they  were  lost 
to  her. 

Again  and  again  there  came  to  her  the  sound  of 
shots  and  men's  voices  shouting,  cursing,  yelling 
wild  commands,  a  rising  clamor  meant  to  divert 

341 


Man  to  Man 

the  blind  rush  of  frightened  beasts,  to  turn  them 
to  right  and  left  so  that  they  might  scramble  out 
of  the  valley  before  they  came  to  the  lower  end 
where  Terry  stood — where  was  the  yawning  chasm 
down  into  which  many  a  great,  terror-filled  body 
was  doomed  to  plunge  to  annihilation  unless  the 
way  were  found  to  swing  the  flood  of  fear  aside 
in  time. 

Barbee  and  Bandy  Oliver  and  the  other  boys 
were  obeying  Steve's  commands,  doing  all  that 
they  could,  seeking  frantically  to  split  the  herd 
and  divert  it  and  so  save  it.  But  all  of  the  time 
the  wind  strengthened,  the  fires  rose  higher  and 
higher  against  the  sky,  the  sparks  soared  to  rarer 
altitudes,  were  flung  further  out,  new  fires  were 
catching  everywhere. 

The  tall,  dry  grass  was  burning  in  a  hundred 
places.  The  herd,  sweeping  on,  was  snorting  its 
terror,  yielding  absolutely  to  the  blind  instinct 
of  flight.  And  steadily  the  thunderous  murmur- 
ing sound  from  the  hoof-smitten  earth  rose  and 
swelled.  Closer  and  'closer  they  came.  Terry 
could  distinguish  Steve's  voice. 

In  her  hand  were  the  matches  he  had  given  her 
in  order  that  she  might  read  again  his  grandfather's 
letter.  A  little  gasp  broke  from  her  lips.  The 
letter  fluttered  from  her  hand,  no  longer  of  the 
slightest  importance  and  on  the  wings  of  the  wind 

342 


The  Stampede 

went  outward  and  then  down  into  the  chasm. 
She  ran  forward  swiftly,  a  hundred  yards  from  the 
precipice's  edge.  She  struck  a  match,  stopped 
briefly,  set  it  to  the  grass. 

The  flame  caught,  leaping  up  avidly,  licking 
hungrily  for  more  fuel,  a  demon  for  desire,  newly 
born,  yearning  to  rage  a  giant  of  destruction. 
The  girl  snatched  a  handful  of  the  burning  grass 
and  ran  with  it;  a  little  further  forward,  then  to 
the  side,  scattering  burning  wisps  as  she  went. 

Everywhere  that  a  spark  fell  it  made  of  itself 
a  blaze.  Already,  in  twenty  seconds,  she  had 
created  a  broad  belt  of  flame  that  rose  swiftly 
and  spread  to  right  and  left. 

About  her  everywhere  the  air  grew  stifling, 
hot,  filled  with  smoke  and  ash  and  cinder  so  that 
as  she  ran  her  lungs  began  to  hurt  her.  But  she 
kept  on.  Nearer  were  the  herds  coming;  Steve 
and  his  men  had  not  been  able  to  stem  the  mad 
torrent;  not  yet  had  they  succeeded  in  turning  it. 

And  in  another  handful  of  minutes  the  black, 
tight-jammed  mass  of  big  panting  bodies  would 
be  hurtling  out  into  space.  Unless  she  made  her 
fire  extend  from  side  to  side  in  a  wall  of  leaping, 
roaring,  swirling  menace  that  would  do  what  no 
men  and  horses  could  accomplish. 

Terry  was  racing  as  never  had  Terry  run  before, 
her  breath  coming  in  choking  sobs,  her  eyes  shin- 

343 


Man  to  Man 

ing  wildly,  her  body  shaken  with  the  effort  she 
put  upon  it.  She  had  her  burning  barrier  across 
the  more  dangerous  end  of  the  valley,  where  the 
cliffs  dropped  sheerest,  she  had  but  another  few 
yards  to  go  and  there  would  be  hope  that  she 
would  succeed.  But  she  must  not  stop  yet,  not 
yet. 

She  ran  on  toward  the  nearer  rim  of  the  valley, 
scattering  burning  wisps  of  grass  as  she  went,  her 
heart  beating  wildly,  seeming  ready  to  burst 
through  her  side.  She  fell,  rose,  ran  on.  She 
stood  still  a  moment,  turning  her  back  to  the  fires 
of  her  own  building,  looking  toward  the  upper  end 
whence  came  the  steady  roar. 

For  an  instant  she  stood  fascinated.  It  looked 
as  though  the  ground  itself,  in  many  a  low-lying 
swell,  were  racing  on  to  meet  her.  Then  she  saw 
the  hundreds  of  horns  glistening  dully  in  the  new 
light.  That  black  mass,  surging  forward,  was 
the  herd  and  she  was  still  in  its  path. 

She  cried  out  and  threw  down  her  last  torch 
and  ran  just  as  the  frightened  steers  were  running, 
fear  in  her  heart,  racing  away  from  death,  just 
running  for  her  life.  She  saw  a  form  ahead  of 
the  others,  breaking  away  from  them,  sweeping 
down  upon  her.  She  cried  out  in  terror;  then 
she  knew  and  cried  out  again  and  threw  up  her 
arms  and  turned  toward  the  rider  who  had  remem- 

344 


The  Stampede 

bered  her  and  feared  for  her  and  come  for  her. 
And  Steve,  bending  from  his  saddle,  equal  to  the 
need  of  the  moment,  swept  her  up  and  caught  her 
tight  in  his  arm  and  rode  out  of  the  way  of  herd 
and  fire. 

From  a  little  crag-crested  knoll,  standing  hand 
in  hand,  their  forms  blended  in  silhouette  against 
the  dawn,  they  watched  breathlessly  the  end  of 
the  stampede.  The  maddened  brutes  rushed 
on,  straight  toward  Terry's  barrier  of  flame. 
Then  those  in  the  van  sought  suddenly  to  alter 
their  headlong  courses. 

Steve's  face  was  white  with  anger  as  he  saw 
the  result.  A  full  half-dozen,  perhaps  ten,  big 
bodies  at  the  fore  passed  through  the  far  end  of 
the  flaming  line,  swept  on,  sought  to  swerve  only 
at  the  last  frantic  moment  with  their  fellows 
crowding  them  to  the  brink,  and,  struggling 
wildly,  went  over  and  down  and  out  of  sight. 
Terry  shuddered. 

The  herd,  however,  broke,  divided,  swung  to 
right  and  left  and  passed  about  the  burning  dan- 
ger-signal and  to  the  outer  rims  of  the  valley, 
achieving  safety  somewhere  in  the  night,  scatter- 
ing, tossing  their  gleaming  fronts,  snorting,  and 
beginning  to  bellow  their  rage. 

"If  it  hadn't  been  for  you,  Terry  Temple — " 
Steve  began,  his  voice  a  little  hoarse. 

345 


Man  to  Man 

"If  it  hadn't  been  for  you,  Steve  Packard," 
laughed  Terry  a  trifle  unsteadily  but  quite  hap- 
pily, "where  would  I  have  been  ?" 

And  then,  quite  as  though  their  destiny  wished 
it  made  plain  that  not  yet  had  the  time  come  for 
them  to  devote  exclusively  to  themselves,  Bar- 
bee  rode  down  toward  them,  spurring  through  the 
last  of  the  fleeing  herd,  shouting: 

"There's  a  dozen  men  ridin'  this  way  an' 

ridin'  like  !  An'  the  firelight's  shinin'  on 

their  guns;  every  man's  totin'  one.  An'  it's  ol' 
Hell-Fire  Packard  ridin'  at  their  head." 

"I'm  glad  he  has  come,"  muttered  Steve 
heavily. 

And  then,  as  though  he  were  uncertain  of  his 
return  to  her,  he  kissed  Terry's  lips  that  were 
lifted  toward  his.  In  a  dull  stupor,  so  much  had 
she  experienced  these  last  few  minutes,  she 
watched  him  swing  again  to  the  back  of  a  horse 
and  ride  to  meet  those  who  came.  The  very  way 
he  carried  his  rifle  in  front  of  him  bespoke  with 
rare  eloquence  his  readiness  for  anything. 


346 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

YELLOW  BARBEE  KEEPS  A  PROMISE 

TERRY  started,  shook  off  her  apathy  with  a 
sudden  effort  and  called  out: 
"Steve!    Steve!    Comeback!" 
He  had  gone  but  a  half-dozen  paces.     He  swung 
about   and   returned   to  her.     It  was   not   light 
enough  yet  for  her  to  see  his  eyes;   they  seemed 
just  unfathomable,  sombre  pools  in  the  shadow 
of  his  hat-brim.     As  he  turned  his  head  a  little, 
harking  to  the   distant  sounds  of  men's  voices 
coming  on,  the  rigid  profile  was  harsh  and  implaca- 
ble. 

"Terry,"  he  said  sternly,  "you  mustn't  ask  me 
to  come  back  again.  I  am  just  standing  on  my 
own  rights  this  time,  as  a  man  must  now  and  then. 
Old  man  Packard  is  over  there.  He  is  coming  on. 
He  wants  trouble.  He  doesn't  want  the  law 
courts.  He  always  preferred  to  play  the  game 
man  to  man.  He  has  cost  me  a  number  of  cattle; 
when  I  can  figure  just  how  many  I  am  going  over 
and  collect  from  him — if  we  are  both  left  alive, 
which  is  to  be  doubted.  And  now,  if  he  wants 
fight- 
Again  he  glanced  over  his  shoulder.  Still  she 
347 


Man  to  Man 

could  not  read  what  lay  in  his  eyes.  But  a  new, 
almost  eager  note,  boyishly  eager  Terry  thought 
in  dismay,  had  burst  into  his  voice: 

"If  he  wants  fight — by  God,  Terry  Temple, 
I'm  as  much  Packard  as  he  is !" 

She  watched  him  wheel  again  and  go.  This 
time  she  did  not  call  to  him.  Her  little  figure 
stiffened,  her  hands  were  down  at  her  sides  and 
clenched,  her  chin  was  lifted  a  little.  The  whole 
attitude  was  soldierlike. 

"They  are  two  of  a  kind,"  said  Terry  within 
herself.  "They  are  men.  They  are  Packards. 
I  am  proud  and — and  afraid — and —  Oh,  dear 
God !  Dear  God !  Bring  him  back  to  me !" 

She  could  hear  Steve  giving  Jiis  brief  orders 
crisply.  Other  figures  loomed  about  him,  com- 
ing out  of  the  night  and  the  shadows.  There 
was  young  Yellow  Barbee  and  Bandy  Oliver; 
there  was  the  Number  Ten  cowboy  whom  she 
knew  only  as  "Spotty";  in  a  moment  these  and 
two  or  three  other  men  were  with  Steve.  Six 
or  seven;  possibly  eight  of  them  all  told.  And 
Barbee  had  said  that  there  were  about  a  dozen 
men  with  old  man  Packard. 

"This  is  my  fight,  boys,"  Steve  was  saying. 
"Mine  and  my  grandfather's.  I  want  you  fellows 
to  keep  out  of  it  unless  the  boys  with  old  man 
Packard  mix  in.  If  they  do " 

348 


Yellow  Barbee  Keeps  a  Promise 

"  We're  with  you,"  said  Yellow  Barbee.  "  Huh, 
boys?" 

And  a  little  nervously  and  hurriedly  they  an- 
swered— 

"Yes." 

"Then,"  concluded  Steve,  "keep  your  eyes 
open.  Hang  back,  now." 

She  saw  him  lean  forward  in  the  saddle,  noted 
how  the  horse  leaped  under  him,  took  anxious 
stock  of  the  manner  in  which  he  carried  his  rifle. 
Then  suddenly  there  came  back  into  Terry's 
cheeks  the  good  hot  blood,  into  her  eyes  the  sparkle 
and  shine,  into  her  heart  something  akin  to  the 
sheer  joy  of  battle.  Had  she  a  horse  she  would 
not  have  hung  back  for  want  of  a  rifle,  but  would 
have  ridden  after  him,  with  him.  As  it  was  she 
cried  out  ringingly: 

"God  go  with  you,  Steve  Packard !  Fm  proud 
of  you!" 

She  might  not  ride  with  him;  at  least  she  would 
not  crouch  and  cringe  and  hide  her  eyes.  She 
would  watch  him  as  he  rode,  watch  him  as  he 
fought,  watch  him  to  the  end  even  though  he 
slipped  from  the  saddle. 

So  she  made  her  way  hastily  to  a  point  of  van- 
tage, running  the  brief  distance  lying  between  the 
slight  knoll  on  which  she  stood  and  the  eastern 
edge  of  the  valley  where  the  rugged  peaks  rose 

349 


Man  to  Man 

abruptly.  She  scrambled  up  the  first  bit  of  slope, 
her  heart  beating  wildly,  expecting  each  second 
to  hear  the  snap  and  crackle  of  rifle-fire.  She 
turned  and  looked  back;  the  floor  of  the  valley 
was  too  uneven  for  her  to  have  a  sweeping  view. 

She  began  climbing  again.  Great  boulders 
rose  in  her  path;  somehow  she  got  on  them  and 
over  them.  Broken  slabs  of  granite  strewed  the 
way;  she  made  of  them  steps  on  which  to  mount 
higher  and  higher.  Still  no  sound  of  a  shot  and 
at  last,  upon  a  narrow  shelf  of  rock  offering  suffi- 
cient foothold,  she  stopped. 

Here,  with  her  back  tight  pressed  to  a  rock,  her 
hands  gripping  at  irregularities  on  each  side  of 
her  to  steady  her,  she  sent  her  questing  gaze 
down  into  Drop  Off  Valley. 

Now  she  understood  why  there  had  as  yet  been 
no  rifle-fire.  The  day,  coming  on  slowly,  still 
offered  more  gloom  than  radiance,  but  she  could 
pick  out  two  figures  clearly.  One  was  that  of 
Steve.  He  had  ridden  on  ahead  of  his  men,  per- 
haps a  hundred  feet  ahead,  and  was  upon  a  bit  of 
higher  ground. 

The  other  form,  bulking  big  in  the  thin  light, 
was  indisputably  that  of  old  man  Packard.  Like 
Steve,  he  had  ridden  on  in  advance  of  his  men. 
She  could  just  make  out  a  dull  mass  yonder  be- 
hind him  which  might  have  been  but  a  group  of 

350 


Yellow  Barbee  Keeps  a  Promise 

boulders  had  not  the  impatient  stirring  showed 
where  his  horsemen  were  waiting. 

It  was  very  still  there  on  the  uplands  in  the 
dim  dawning.  In  breathless  watchfulness  a  few 
men  behind  Steve  watched;  a  few  men  behind  old 
man  Packard  watched;  a  girl  upon  a  granite 
peak  watched.  Down  toward  the  lower  end  of 
the  valley  where  the  floor  of  the  plateau  dropped 
precipitously  into  the  steep-walled  canon  the  fire 
Terry  had  set  was  still  burning  fiercely.  But  the 
wind  carried  its  fury  away  from  them,  so  that  it 
was  only  an  evil  whisper. 

Here  and  there,  elsewhere  in  the  valley,  the 
fires  still  burned  on.  There  were  wide  stretches 
across  which  the  flames  had  already  swept  so 
that  now  they  were  ink-black,  burnt-out,  smoking 
a  little.  Upon  such  an  open  space,  still  hot  under 
their  horses'  hoofs,  the  two  Packards,  grandfather 
and  grandson,  came  face  to  face..  And  they  were 
stern,  ominously  set  faces  confronting  each  other. 

At  last  they  had  pulled  rein,  both  of  them, 
looking  grotesquely  like  clockwork  mechanisms, 
being  actuated  by  the  same  impulse  at  the  same 
time.  Some  ten  feet  only  were  between  their 
horses'  tossing  heads.  They  were  almost  opposite 
Terry's  lookout  and  at  no  great  distance.  In  the 
quiet  pervading  the  valley  their  voices  came  to 
her.  Not  each  word,  but  a  word  now  and  then, 

351 


Man  to  Man 

lifted  above  its  fellows,  and  always  the  purport. 
For  there  was  no  mistaking  the  quality  of  the  two 
voices. 

Rage  in  old  Packard  was  welcomed  by  wrath 
in  young  Packard.  Heat  and  anger  and  explosive 
denunciation,  these  were  to  be  looked  for  now. 
Never  had  it  been  the  Packard  way  to  temporize; 
always  had  it  been  the  Packard  way  to  leap  in 
and  strike.  Few-worded  always  was  the  old 
man;  as  few-worded  was  the  young  man  now. 

"You  are  a  damn'  scoundrel,  sir!" 

"You  will  draw  your  men  off.  You  will  pay 
for  the  damage  Blenham  has  done." 

"By  God,  sir!" 

There  was  little  more  said.  That  thunderous 
"By  God,  sir!"  from  the  old  man's  lips  carried 
to  Terry  where  she  stood  tight  pressed  against 
her  rock.  And  then  all  unexpectedly  and  from 
an  unexpected  quarter,  came  the  first  rifle-shot. 

The  first  shot  and  the  second,  close  together. 
The  bullets  passed  between  grandfather  and  grand- 
son, kicking  up  little  puffs  of  dust  beyond  them. 
Neither  looked  to  see  whence  the  shots  came. 
The  thought  was  in  each  mind : 

"  Is  this  a  Packard  I  am  dealing  with  ?  Setting 
one  of  his  hired  assassins  to  shooting  from  a 
blind?" 

The  old  man's  rifle  was  thrown  up  before  him; 
352 


Yellow  Barbee  Keeps  a  Promise 

Steve's  rose  with  it.  Over  yonder  old  Packard's 
men  squared  themselves  in  their  saddles  and 
made  ready  for  grim  work.  Yellow  Barbee  gave 
a  signal  all  unneeded  to  his  men;  his  own  rifle  in 
his  eager  hands,  was  ready,  the  trigger  yielding 
to  his  calloused  forefinger. 

And  then  from  the  flinty  spire  of  a  peak  rising 
between  them  and  a  sun  that  was  slowly  wheeling 
into  the  clear  sky,  came  scream  after  scream  that 
echoed  and  billowed  across  the  open  lands  as 
Terry  Temple,  seeing  something  of  the  truth,  cried 
out  in  terrified  desperation  and  warning. 

A  girl's  voice  screaming —  Old  man  Packard 
turned  sharply  and  stared  in  wonderment. 
Terry's  voice—  Steve  swung  about,  his  anger 
suddenly  quenched  in  alarm,  his  eyes  seeking 
everywhere  for  her. 

It  was  Barbee  who  saw  her  first.  Barbee 
called  out,  a  strange  note  in  his  voice,  and  clapped 
his  spurs  to  his  horse's  sides  and  went  racing  across 
the  undulating  lands  toward  her.  Then  Steve 
saw  and  old  man  Packard  and  the  rest.  Saw 
but  at  first  could  not  understand:  the  sun  was 
just  behind  her,  winking  into  their  eyes.  There 
was  some  one  with  her,  struggling  with  her. 

"Blenham!"  shouted  Steve. 

And  he  was  racing  wildly  along  after  Barbee, 
yearning  to  shoot  to  kill  and  yet  not  daring  to 

353 


Man  to  Man 

shoot  at  all.  Blenham  and  Terry  struggling 
upon  the  iron  side  of  the  mountain,  Terry  strik- 
ing and  striking  at  him  frantically,  Blenham  with 
his  arms  about  her,  dragging  her  back  toward 
a  wide  fissure  in  the  rocks,  the  sun  bright  above 
them. 

To  Terry  it  seemed  that  the  universe  had  come 
crashing  down  about  her  ears.  A  moment  ago, 
tense  and  rigid  and  breathless,  she  had  stood 
watching  two  men  face  each  other  threateningly. 
Then  there  had  been  the  crack  of  the  unexpected, 
unseen  rifle;  the  dust  struck  up  between  them; 
the  second  shot.  And  the  smoking  rifle-barrel 
was  not  three  feet  from  where  Terry  stood, 
Blenham's  convulsed  face  laid  against  the  stock, 
Blenham's  one  evil  eye  lining  the  sights. 

Almost  on  the  instant  she  guessed  something  of 
the  truth.  Blenham  in  this  light  was  not  sure 
of  hitting;  he  would  be  a  fool  to  shoot  and  miss. 
Unless — and  it  was  then  that  she  screamed  out 
her  warning,  then  before  he  had  so  much  as  put 
out  his  hand  toward  her. 

Unless  Blenham,  with  all  of  the  guile  of  him 
uppermost,  knew  that  that  shot  fired  between  the 
two  would  send  them  flying  at  each  other's  throats, 
ending  all  parley  and  bringing  about  unthinkable 
tragedy.  Blenham  had  his  own  reasons  for  what 
he  did;  certainly  it  would  fit  in  with  Blenham's 

354 


Yellow  Barbee  Keeps  a  Promise 

plans  to  see  the  hand  of  a  Packard  set  against  a 
Packard. 

But  she  had  not  thought  to  have  him  seize  her. 
Now  his  great,  calloused,  soiled,  hairy  hands  shut 
down  upon  her,  gripping  her  shoulders,  jerking 
her  from  her  place  into  the  crevice  from  which  his 
face  had  emerged.  She  fought,  seeking  to  get 
the  revolver  in  her  blouse. 

Blenham  must  have  known  that  she  kept  it 
there.  He  snatched  it  and  threw  it  behind  him 
and  cursed  her  as  he  dragged  her  with  him.  As 
Barbee  came  on  and  Steve  came  just  behind 
him,  the  figures  of  Blenham  and  Terry  were  both 
gone  as  though  the  mountain-side  had  split  for 
them  and  closed  after  them. 

"They've  got  in  a  hole,"  called  out  Barbee. 
"Them  mountains  is  full  of  caves.  They  can't 
get  away  far." 

As  they  went  up  the  steep  slope  Barbee  was 
still  in  the  lead.  He  mounted  to  the  shelf  of 
rock  on  which  Terry  had  been  standing.  He 
stepped  into  the  crevice  through  which  Blenham 
had  dragged  Terry. 

"There's  a  split  in  the  rocks  here,"  called  Bar- 
bee.  "He  went  this  way." 

"Watch  out  for  him!"  warned  Steve,  now  on 
the  ledge  close  to  the  boy.  "Let  me  go  ahead !" 

Barbee  laughed. 

355 


Man  to  Man 

"Long  ago  I  told  him  I'd  get  him !" 

But  Blenham  was  waiting  in  a  little  rock- 
rimmed  hollow.  He  shot  from  the  hip,  using  a 
heavy  revolver.  Barbee  stood  a  moment  look- 
ing foolishly  at  the  sky  as  he  slowly  leaned  back 
against  the  rock.  Then  he  lurched  and  fell,  twist- 
ing, spinning  so  that  he  lay  half  in  the  fissure,  his 
rifle  clattering  to  the  ledge  outside,  his  body  fall- 
ing so  that  his  head  and  shoulders  were  across  the 
rifle. 

Steve  stepped  over  Barbee's  twitching  body, 
alert,  every  nerve  taut,  his  finger  crooked  to  the 
trigger  of  his  rifle.  But  again  Blenham  had  with- 
drawn. In  the  little  rudely  circular  hollow  from 
which  Blenham  had  fired  point-blank  at  Yellow 
Barbee  was  Terry's  hat,  trodden  underfoot. 
Again  it  was  as  though  the  mountain  had  swal- 
lowed the  man  and  the  girl  he  had  taken  with  him. 

But  a  moment  later  Steve  saw  and  understood. 
Not  ten  steps'from  where  he  stood  was  the  mouth 
of  a  cave.  Into  it  Blenham  had  retreated.  In 
there  was  Blenham  now;  Blenham  and  Terry  with 
him.  And  the  way,  for  the  moment  at  least,  was 
securely  blocked.  Evidently  here  was  a  hangout 
known  before,  previously  employed.  It  had  a 
door  made  of  heavy  cedar  slabs.  The  door  was 
shut,  and,  of  course,  barred  from  within. 

"Terry  .'"called  Steve. 

356 


Yellow  Barbee  Keeps  a  Promise 

Terry  sought  to  answer;  he  heard  her  voice  in 
inarticulate  terror,  little  more  than  a  gasp, 
choked  back  in  her  throat.  Steve  went  dead 
white.  He  visualized  Blenham's  hands  upon  her. 

He  came  on  to  the  door,  his  rifle  clubbed. 
There  was  but  the  one  thing  to  do;  smash  down 
the  door  and  so  come  at  Blenham  the  shortest, 
quickest,  only  way. 

Then  Blenham  called  to  him  for  the  first  time. 

"  Fool,  are  you,  Steve  Packard  ?  Look  at  that 
door.  Don't  you  know  before  you  can  batter  it 
down  I  can  pick  you  off!  An'  I  can  do  more'n 
that!): 

As  though  he  had  cruelly  drawn  it  from  her, 
there  came  again  Terry's  scream.  Steve  sprang 
forward  and  struck  at  the  heavy  cedar  planks. 
And  Blenham  called  out  again: 

"Maybe  you  can  break  your  way  in;  there's 
enough  of  you.  But  you'll  find  her  dead  when 
the  door  falls!" 

Steve  had  again  lifted  his  rifle.  Now  he  let  it 
sink  slowly  so  that  the  butt  came  to  rest  gently 
upon  the  rock  at  his  feet.  Blenham  held  the  high 
hand;  Blenham  was  unthinkably  vile;  Blenham 
was  desperate.  And  Terry,  his  little  Terry  on 
whom  Blenham  had  always  looked  with  the  eye 
of  a  brute  and  a  beast,  was  in  there,  just  beyond 
three  inches  of  solid  seasoned  cedar  planking. 

357 


Man  to  Man 

"If  you  harm  her  in  the  least — "  It  was 
Steve's  voice  though  certainly  at  first  neither 
Blenham  nor  even  Terry  could  have  recognized 
it.  "If  you  harm  her  in  the  least,  Blenham,  I'll 
kill  you.  Not  all  at  once — just  by  inches  !" 

Blenham  answered  him  coolly. 

"I  know  when  I've  lost  a  trick,  Steve  Packard. 
This  ain't  the  firs'  one  an'  it  ain't  goin'  to  be  the 
last.  I've  played  'em  high  an'  I  always  knowed 
I  took  chances.  But  I'm  playin'  safe !  Get  me  ? 
Safe!" 

"Go  ahead;  what  do  you  mean  ?" 

"Ol'  man  Packard  is  down  there.  This  girl's 
yellin'  spoiled  my  play.  By  now  he  has  learned 
a  thing  or  two.  All  right;  that's  jus'  the  run  of 
luck,  rotten  luck ! " 

Under  the  words  the  restraint  was  gone  and  his 
rage  flared  out  briefly.  But  it  was  patent  that 
Blenham's  shrewdness  was  still  with  him.  He 
continued  almost  calmly: 

"You  an'  him  can  have  two  words  together. 
Then  come  back  here  an'  give  me  your  promises, 
both  of  you,  to  let  me  go.  Then  I'll  let  her  go. 
Otherwise,  I'm  as  good  as  dead — an'  so's  she. 
I'll  jam  a  gun  to  her  head  the  las'  thing  an'  blow 
her  brains  out.  An',  what's  more,  I'll  get  one 
or  two  of  you  besides  before  you  drop  me." 

Into  their  parley,  interrupting  it,  his  eyes  flam- 

358 


Yellow  Barbee  Keeps  a  Promise 

ing,  his  face  hot  with  anger,  mounted  old  man 
Packard. 

"Stephen,"  he  said  sternly,  his  eyes  hard  on  his 
grandson's  face,  "tell  me  an'  tell  me  the  down- 
right truth,  so  help  you  God:  Did  you  rent  this 
pasture  from  Andy  Sprague,  thinkin'  he  owned 
it?" 

Though  he  wondered,  Steve  answered  briefly, 
to  have  this  done  with  so  that  he  could  again  turn 
to  Blenham — 

"Yes." 

"An'  the  boys  says  you  have  been  losin'  stock 
an'  blamin'  it  to  me  ?  An'  that  you've  had  stock 
poisoned  an'  shot  ?  An'  blamed  it  to  me  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Steve. 

"So've  I,"  said  the  old  man  heavily.  "An* 
I've  always  blamed  it  to  you.  An'  I  never  sold 
to  Andy  Sprague.  Him  an'  Blenham — Blen- 
ham has  played  us  both  ways  for  suckers,  has  stole 
enough  cows  from  one  an'  another " 

His  voice  was  swept  up  into  the  roar  of  rage 
which  had  given  him  his  name  of  the  old  moun- 
tain-lion of  the  north.  He  came  stepping  over 
poor  Barbee's  body,  thrusting  by  Steve,  towering 
over  the  door  of  the  cave. 

"Hold  back,"  commanded  Steve  queerly. 
"He's  in  there.  But  he's  got  it  on  us.  We've 
got  to  promise  to  let  him  go !" 

359 


Man  to  Man 

"Let  him  go!"  shouted  the  old  man,  his  big 
bulk  seeming  actually  to  quiver  with  rage.  "After 
all  he's  done,  let  him  go  ?  By  the  Lord,  Stephen 
Packard,  if  you're  that  sort  of  a  man 

"She  is  in  there  with  him,"  said  Steve  heavily. 
"Terry  is  in  there.  Don't  you  see  ?" 

"Terry  ?    That  Temple  girl  ?     What  have  we 

j  »> 

to  do 

"In  the  first  place,"  cried  Steve  sharply, 
"she's  a  girl  and  he's  a  brute.  In  the  second 
place,  she  is  the  next  Mrs.  Packard  and  I  won't 
have  Blenham  pawing  over  her !" 

His  grandfather  stared  at  him,  long  and  keenly. 
Then  he  turned  away  and  called  out  command- 
ingly— 

'Blenham,  come  out  of  that !" 

Blenham  jeered  at  him. 

"And  be  shot  down  like  a  dog  ?  There's  a  girl 
in  here,  Packard.  Young  Packard  is  gone  on 
her;  he  wants  to  marry  her.  An'  unless  you  an' 
him  give  your  word  to  let  me  go,  I'm  goin'  to 
jam  a  gun  at  her  head  an'  blow  her  brains  out. 
An'  I'll  get  him  as  I  come  out;  an'  I'll  get 
you." 

"Let  him  go!"  called  Terry  faintly.  "Let 
him  go,  Steve !  Oh,  dear  God — if  you  love 


Come   out,    Blenham!"   shouted   Steve.     "I 
360 


Yellow  Barbee  Keeps  a  Promise 

give  you  my  word,  so  help  me  God,  to  let  you  go 
scot-free.     Come  out!" 

"Not  so  fast,"  mocked  Blenham,  lingering  over 
his  high  card.  "You've  got  to  promise  for  your 
men;  youVe  got  to  send  'em  across  the  valley. 
You've  got  to  have  a  horse  handy  for  me  to  ride. 
You've  got  to  back  down  the  valley  yourse'f. 
An'  oF  man  Packard  has  got  to  do  the  same." 

Old  man  Packard  roared  out  his  curses,  but  in 
the  end,  seeing  nothing  else  to  do,  he  went  grum- 
bling down  the  rocky  slope,  back  to  his  horse  and 
to  his  men.  But  first  he  had  known  perhaps 
the  supreme  humiliation  of  his  life.  He  had 
said: 

"Blenham,  on  my  word  of  honor  as  a  Packard 
an'  a  gentleman,  I'll  let  you  go.  An'  I'll  make 
my  men  let  you  go." 

And  there  were  actually  tears  hanging  to  his 
lashes  as  he  swung  again  into  his  saddle. 

"He  has  not  hurt  you,  Terry?"  asked  Steve 
before  he  too  would  go  down  the  slope. 

"No,"  cried  Terry.  "No,  no !  But,  oh,  hurry, 
hurry,  Steve.  I  feel  that  I'll  smother,  I'll  die!" 

From  down  in  the  valley  they  watched,  close 
to  a  score  of  hard-eyed,  wrath-filled  men,  as  Blen- 
ham stepped  out  of  the  crevice  and  on  to  the 
ledge.  They  saw  how  he  jeered  as  he  stepped 
over  the  body  of  the  man  he  had  shot. 

361 


Man  to  Man 

"A  fool  was  Barbee,"  he  called.  "A  fool  the 
Packards,  ol'  an'  young!" 

They  saw  him  come  down  the  slope,  carrying 
himself  with  a  swaggering  air  of  braggadocio,  but 
plainly  watchful  and  suspicious.  Terry  had  come 
out  upon  the  ledge  and  she  too  watched  him. 
He  came  down  swiftly  and  swung  up  into  the  sad- 
dle of  the  horse  they  had  left  for  him. 

And  now  at  last  his  suspicion  was  past.  His 
triumph  broke  out  like  a  streak  of  evil  light. 

"I  was  ready  to  go,"  he  called,  "any  time !" 

He  swung  his  arm  out  toward  the  blue  hills  of 
old  Mexico. 

"Down  there— 

Barbee  whom  they  had  thought  dead  stirred  a 
little  where  he  lay.  The  rifle  under  him  he 
thrust  forward  six  inches. 

"Blenham!"  he  called  weakly. 

Blenham  swung  about  and  fired,  again  from 
the  hip.  But  he  had  fired  hastily.  Barbee's 
rifle,  resting  upon  the  rock,  was  steady.  Between 
its  muzzle  and  Blenham's  broad  chest  there  was 
but  the  brief  distance  of  some  fifty  feet.  The 
report  of  Barbee's  rifle,  the  thin  upcurling  smoke 
under  the  new  sun — these  were  the  chief  matters 
in  all  the  world  for  their  little  fragment  of  time. 

Then  Blenham  threw  out  his  arms  and  pitched 
forward.  His  foot  caught  in  the  stirrup.  The 

362 


Yellow  Barbee  Keeps  a  Promise 

frightened  horse  was  plunging,  running,  dragging 
a  man  whose  body  was  whipped  this  way  and 
that. 

"I  promised — a  long  time  ago,"  whispered  Bar- 
bee,  "that  Fd  get  you,  Blenham." 


363 


G 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

IN  HONOR  OF  THE  FAIRY  QUEEN! 

UY  LITTLE!" 


The  old  man's  voice  boomed  out  mightily 
as  the  old  man  himself  strode  back  and  forth  im- 
patiently in  the  big  barn-like  library  of  his  ranch 
home.  Guy  Little  appeared  with  a  promptness 
savoring  either  of  magic  or  prepared  expectancy. 

"You  rang,  your  majesty  ?" 

"Rang,  your  foot!"  shouted  old  Packard.  "I 
hollered  my  ol'  head  off.  What's  the  day  of  the 
week,  Guy  Little?" 

"It's  Wednesday,  your 

"An'  what's  the  day  of  the  month  ?" 

"It's  the  nineteenth,  your— 

"Then  tell  me,  sir,"  and  the  old  man's  tone  was 
angry  and  challenging  to  a  remarkable  degree, 
"why  in  the  name  of  the  devil  my  gran'son, 
Stephen,  ain't  showed  up  yet !" 

Guy  Little  might  have  remarked  that  it  was 
rather  early  to  expect  any  one  to  show  up.  It 
was  not  yet  six  o'clock  of  a  morning  which  prom- 
ised to  be  one  of  the  very  finest  mornings  ever 
known.  The  old  man  had,  as  Guy  Little  expressed 

3^4 


In  Honor  of  the  Fairy  Queen! 

it,  "  been  prancin'  an'  pawin'  aroun',"  for  an  hour. 

Guy  Little  grinned  like  any  cherub. 

"He  has  showed  up,"  he  chuckled,  though  he 
had  meant  to  hold  back  the  tidings  teasingly. 
"He  come  in  late  las'  night.  You  was  asleep  an' 
sleepin'  soun',  so 

"He  did,  did  he?"  bellowed  the  old  man. 
""Crept  in  like  a  damn*  thief  in  the  night,  did  he  ? 
Well,  where  is  he  now?  Sleepin'  yet,  I'll  be 
bound.  When  he  ought  to  be  up  an' —  Why, 
when  I  was  a  young  devil  his  age 

"He's  outside  somewhere,"  said  Guy  Little. 
"He  has  been  down  to  the  crick  for  a  mornin' 
dip,  I'd  guess,  your  majesty." 

"Why  would  you  guess  that  ?" 

"Because  pretty  near  all  he  had  on  was  a  towel 

an'  a  -  -  a  sort  of  a immodes'  britch-cloth," 

explained  Guy  Little  confidentially. 

"An',"  continued  old  man  Packard,  "where's 
—she?" 

"Meanin'  the  Fairy  Queen,  your  majesty?" 
Guy  Little's  voice  was  now  a  whisper. 

"Meanin'  her — the  Fairy  Queen,"  said  the  old 
man  gently.  "Sleepin',  Guy  Little?  I  won't 
have  her  woke!" 

"Woke,  your  eyebrow!"  chuckled  Guy  Little. 
"I'd  say  she's  gone  for  a — a  dip,  too,  your  maj- 
esty. An' — an',  between  just  the  two  of  us  ol' 

365 


Man  to  Man 

fellers,  hers  is  purty  near  as  immodes'  as  his ! 
Fact,  an*  I  don't  care  whose  granddaughter  she  is. 
Blue,  you  know;  an*  not  very  much  of  it.  An'  a 
red  cap.  An* — I  couldn't  see  very  well  through 
the  curtains  an'  I  dasn't  let  'em  know  I  was 
lookin'.  Only  don't  you  let  her  know  we  know; 
why,  bless  her  little  simple  heart,  she  ain't  got 

the  least  idea  how  pretty  an' — an' immod- 

<** " 

Old  man  Packard  fixed  him  with  a  knowing  eye. 

"Ain't  she?"  he  demanded.  "Ain't  she,  Guy 
Little  ?  Why,  if  there's  one  thing  in  this  world 
worth  knowin*  that  my  granddaughter  don't 
know —  Go  order  breakfas'  ready  in  two  shakes, 
Guy  Little." 

"I  did,"  said  Guy  Little.  "It's  ready  already. 
There  they  come.  Happy-Iookin',  ain't  they  ? 
Like  a  couple  kids." 

"An*  see  that  them  two  new  saddle-horses  is 
ready  right  after  breakfas'  for  'em,  Guy  Little." 

"They're  ready  now,"  chuckled  Guy  Little. 
"I  remembered." 

"An'— an'  she  likes- 

" Flowers  on  the  table?  An'  her  grapefruit 
stacked  high  with  sugar?  An'  the  coffee  with 
hot  milk  ?  Don't  I  know  nothin'  a-tall,  Pack- 
ard?" 

Steve  and  Terry,  dripping  and  laughing,  break- 
366 


In  Honor  of  the  Fairy  Queen! 

ing  into  a  run  as  they  came  on  across  the  meadow, 
spied  the  big  man  and  the  little  at  the  window 
and  shouted  a  joyous  good  morning  and  Terry 
threw  them  a  kiss  apiece.  And  old  man  Packard, 
his  hands  on  his  hips,  a  look  of  absolute,  ineffable 
content  in  his  eyes,  said  softly: 

"I've  made  a  mistake  or  two  in  my  life,  Guy 
Little.  But  ain't  I  lived  long  enough  to  squeeze 
in  a  blunder  or  so  here  an*  there  ?  An'  I've  made 
a  mistake  a  time  or  two  on  a  man." 

"Blenham  did  fool  you  pretty  slick,"  suggested 
Guy  Little. 

"But,"  went  on  the  old  man  hurriedly,  "I 
know  a  real,  upstandin',  thoroughbred— 

"Fairy  Queen  of  a  woman." 

"Fairy  Queen  of  a  woman  when  I  see  her. 
An'  that  little  thing  out  there,  her  eyes  shinm' 
like  I  ain't  seen  a  pair  of  eyes  shine  for  more'n 
fifty  year,  Guy  Little — why,  sir,  she's  what  I  call 
a—  Why,  she's  a  Packard,  man  !" 


367 


M2? 


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